Operation Ladybug
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: "What is it?" Henry asked, looking up at Mr. Gold in wonder. "It's a soldier's medallion from the Enchanted Forest. Very old .. and some say a powerful good luck charm. I think it might be just what Miss Swan needs." (or, what if the Charmings had the opportunity to have everything they thought they wanted?)
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Operation Ladybug  
**Summary: **"What is it?" Henry asked, looking up at Mr. Gold in wonder. "It's a soldier's medallion from the Enchanted Forest. Very old .. and some say a powerful good luck charm. I think it might be just what Miss Swan needs." (or, what if the Charmings had the opportunity to have everything they thought they wanted?)  
**Spoilers:** None, really. Set mid-season 2.  
**Rating/Warning: **K+, for language, mostly. Family fluff and angst and everything in between.  
**Disclaimer:** _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just sitting here try not to go insane over hiatus. I don't think it's working very well but the writing seems to take the edge off, so please don't sue me. :)  
**Author's Note:** The following is what results when I decide I want to write an enchanted object story with a Charming Family slant. There's magic in Storybrooke and magic within Emma, and I wanted to play around with that a little bit while still writing a family bonding piece. Feedback thrills me like you would not believe! Enjoy.

* * *

Something was wrong with Henry's mom.

Not seriously wrong, health-wise or anything, but ever since Emma had come back from the Enchanted Forest, she'd been … different. Sometimes it was a good kind of different, like how she gave him easy hugs and comforting little touches every now and again. She hadn't done _that_ before she left.

However, a lot of times it was a bad kind of different, a difference he could see on her face. Her smiles sometimes looked tight and forced. Her eyes had lost a little bit of their spark. Sometimes he'd even catch her staring off into space, looking so sad and … lost.

And that wasn't even counting all the bad dreams she'd been having. He knew because he'd still been having bad dreams of his own, awful dreams of a burning red room with no way to escape. Emma always let him climb into bed with her after one of those dreams, and sometimes he would lie awake long after she'd finally fallen asleep. Eventually she would start to whimper in her sleep, and he'd try to soothe her nightmares just like she soothed his.

So, yeah, something was definitely wrong with Emma, and Henry was determined to fix it.

This morning, he'd had come up with a foolproof plan to put a smile on her face. He'd gone downstairs before her and prepared her favorite breakfast: a side of bacon, a huge bowl of Froot Loops, and a mug of cocoa sprinkled with cinnamon to drink. Now all she had to do was come downstairs and eat, and she would feel better for sure.

Sure enough, when she descended the stairs and spotted a breakfast containing half her recommended daily allowance of sugar and sodium waiting for her, she did smile. She caught his eye as she sat at the kitchen island to eat. "Aw, kid, did you do this?"

He nodded, grinning at her. Of course, he couldn't tell her the real reason he'd made her breakfast was to cheer her up, so he said, "You make me lunch all the time. I just wanted to return the favor."

Her smile grew a touch wider. "Thanks."

Since watching her eat would have made her uncomfortable, Henry instead focused on getting ready for school. His homework was indeed tucked neatly into his folder so when his grandmother asked him for the hundredth time whether or not he remembered his homework, he could tell her yes. His lunch was all packed and ready to go; he'd made it himself this morning so his mom wouldn't have to. He brushed his hair and ran into the bathroom to make sure it wasn't sticking up in funny places – although Emma would have told him if it was.

As he prepared for the day, though, his eyes kept traveling to her. For a while, she was fine, but when she finished her meal, a familiar troubled expression settled on her face.

Henry's heart sank. The breakfast had made her happy for a little while but it hadn't made whatever was bothering her better. Dang it, he should have known. Well, now what was he going to do? He really didn't like seeing her upset like this, but without knowing exactly what was wrong, he didn't know what he could do to fix it. And it wasn't like she would ever tell him the truth if he asked. All she would do was force a smile, insist nothing was wrong, and then change the subject.

She stood and carried her plate, bowl, and mug to the sink. After giving them a quick rinse, she set them down to be washed and then stepped over to Henry, wrapping him in a quick hug. "Thanks again for breakfast, kid."

"You're welcome," he grinned. One thing was for certain: he would never get tired of her hugs.

She pulled away after a moment and sighed softly. "Do you mind if David walks you to the bus stop today? I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me at the station, and I kind of want to get a jump on it."

Actually, he was a little disappointed. He enjoyed those few minutes he shared with her in the morning as they walked down the street side by side, talking about random things. He didn't want to do or say anything that would upset her further, though, so he shook his head. "Nah, I don't mind."

"Great. I'll meet you after school, okay?"

"Okay."

Henry watched as she shrugged on her jacket and headed out the door. His grandmother exited her bedroom just as the front door closed behind Emma. "She's off early this morning," she said, a slight frown knotting her brow.

"She said she had paperwork," Henry shrugged.

Snow cast a thoughtful and somewhat troubled glance at the door before nodding to herself. Henry's eyes widened in realization. His grandmother _knew_ something. Or at the very least, she suspected something. Could she know what was wrong with Emma?

He watched as Snow stepped over to the sink to wash the breakfast dishes. Henry had left the bacon pan soaking and Emma had just left her stuff like always. If Snow minded cleaning up after them all the time, she'd never said anything about it.

Henry stood next to his grandmother and pulled a towel out of the drawer, ready to dry the dishes as she washed. She smiled gratefully at him as she handed him Emma's mug. For a long beat, they washed and dried in silence. Then Henry asked, "Gramma? Does Mom seem … sad to you?"

She looked down at him in surprise before once again giving him another smile, this one comforting. "A little, yes. I think the Enchanted Forest was harder on her than she wants to admit."

"Are you worried?"

At that, she hesitated. Then she shook her head and handed him Emma's freshly washed bowl. "No. Your mom's tough; she's all right."

Henry's eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded his grandmother. Emma may have cornered the market in being able to spot a liar, but Henry was eleven, not a little kid. He could certainly tell when someone was trying to sugarcoat something for him, and his grandmother was definitely sugarcoating. She _was_ worried about Emma but she didn't want him to worry.

Well, it was too late for that. There had to be _something_ that would cheer his mom up, but what?

After a moment, the answer came to him. Of course! He could get her a present! Everyone liked presents. This present would have to be something really special, though, something that was sure to make her feel better.

Now that he had a mission, Henry couldn't have his mom to meet him at the bus stop after school. He'd text her and tell her Snow was going to do it or something because once he got out of school, he needed to go shopping. The first phase of Operation Ladybug was going into effect the second he got off the bus.

* * *

Operation Ladybug was not going well at all. Henry had stopped in almost every single store in Storybrooke and hadn't found a single that he thought would help his mom feel better. He'd thought about getting her a whole bunch of candy bars from Mr. Clark's store – because Emma _really_ liked chocolate – but then he remembered that her breakfast hadn't made her feel better for very long. No, he needed something more lasting than food, something that would put a smile on her face every time she saw it.

But what? He'd wandered the aisles of all the stores, looking for that one item that screamed "Emma" to him. And he hadn't found a single thing.

There was only one store left to check. He'd been avoiding it because he knew neither of his moms nor his grandparents would like it. On the other hand, if there was something in there that could make Emma happy … well, he owed it to her to try.

He just wouldn't tell her where he got it.

After taking a breath and squaring his shoulders, Henry stepped into Mr. Gold's shop. The bell above the door tinkled, signaling his presence. An impatient-looking Mr. Gold pushed aside the curtain separating his office from the shop proper but he smiled when he spotted Henry running his eyes over the objects on display. "Ah, young Mr. Mills. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Henry swallowed the slight fear rising in his chest as he approached the counter. Yeah, Mr. Gold had helped him learn to take control of the red room but he was also Rumpelstiltskin. He was more than a little intimidating. If anyone had anything that could make Emma smile, though, it was him. "I'm looking for a present for my mom … for Emma. She's been sad lately and I thought a present might help her feel better."

"Such a caring son," Gold murmured, a calm smile still on his lips. He made his way over to a glass case on the right hand side of the shop. "You say she's been feeling sad?"

"Yeah, ever since she came back from the Enchanted Forest," Henry said as he watched the man unlock the case, slide it open, and rummage through its contents. It struck him after the words had left his mouth that he probably shouldn't have revealed so much. Oh, well. It was out now; in for a penny, in for a pound. "I just thought maybe I could find her something that'll make her smile."

Mr. Gold nodded and rummaged around in the case a bit more. After a moment, he pulled out a small box made of deep blue velvet. He wordlessly handed the box over to Henry, who accepted it with a slight frown and opened it.

Inside was a thin but heavy silver disk about the size and shape of a sand dollar. The silver was engraved with a shield split in four by a cross. Little swords took up residence in two sections of the shield and little swans occupied the other two. A border of five-pointed stars rimmed the disk, surrounding the shield.

Henry didn't have the slightest clue what he was looking at but he felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth anyway. And if it made him smile, maybe it would make Emma smile, too. "What is it?" he asked, looking up at Mr. Gold in wonder.

"It's a soldier's medallion from the Enchanted Forest. Very old .. and some say a powerful good luck charm. I think it might be just what Miss Swan needs."

"You really think so?"

"I do indeed."

Henry looked back down at the medallion. He did have to admit that it was pretty much perfect for her. It couldn't have been more perfect if it was made specifically for her! The swans and swords and stars … they all meant something to her. And everyone needed at least one good luck charm. There was only one potential problem that he could see: "How much is it?" he asked, once again raising his eyes to Mr. Gold.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Gold nodded towards the box. "It's on the house."

Okay, wait a second. When he'd bought the bell for his gramma back when his gramma was just his teacher, Mr. Gold had charged him three weeks' allowance. And that was just a bell! Why on earth was he just giving this medallion away for free? What was the catch? "Really?"

"How can I put a price on a young boy wanting to do something nice for his mother?" Gold replied.

Oh. Well, then. Henry smiled as he snapped the box closed. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome, dearie. You'll have to let me know if it accomplishes its purpose."

After giving the man another grateful smile and a little wave goodbye, Henry left the shop. He opened the box to examine the medallion one final time before tucking it safely into his backpack. It looked like Operation Ladybug wasn't a complete failure after all. Phase One was complete, and after dinner sounded like the perfect time to launch Phase Two.

He couldn't wait to see Emma smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Once again, you all are the best readers ever. Thanks for the follows and favorites and reviews! Here's the next part ... hope you like!

* * *

All Henry wanted to do was initiate Phase Two of Operation Ladybug but everything seemed to be getting in his way. Snow had made him do his homework right after he walked into the apartment after school so he hadn't been able to go to the station to talk to his mom. David and Emma had gotten stuck at work, and they'd arrived home just as Snow was getting supper on the table. There hadn't been anywhere near enough time to give Emma the medallion before everyone sat down to eat.

It seemed as if it took forever for everyone to finish the meal. Conversation flowed but Henry kept casting anxious glances at his backpack hanging on the coat hooks by the front door. The medallion was still sitting in there, waiting. Henry was waiting, too, waiting rather impatiently for the moment when he could give his mom her present and make her happy.

Eventually everyone sat back, stuffed to the gills. "Why don't you two go relax?" Snow said to Emma and Henry. "Charming and I can get the dishes."

Emma gave her mother a tired but wordless smile. She cleared her place and set her dishes in the sink to be cleaned. Then she made her way over the sofa, plopped down, and put her feet up on the coffee table, something Snow would never have allowed had she not been so preoccupied with the dishes. No sooner had she sat down than a faraway look came across her face, her mind already miles elsewhere.

It was finally time. Henry ran over to his backpack and dug through the front pocket until his hand wrapped around the velvet box. As soon as he pulled it free, he hurried over to the sofa. Phase Two: go for launch.

He held the box behind his back. Emma was so lost in thought that she didn't even see him, not until he sat down beside her. At the invasion of her personal space, she blinked, coming out of her daydream. She didn't remain lost for very long, though. The second she saw him, her brow furrowed. "You're up to something."

Although she was absolutely correct, Henry did his best to sound indignant. "I am not! What makes you think I'm up to something?"

"There are two whole cushions left on this couch and you sat down pretty much on top of me, for one," Emma said, a teasing smirk pulling at her lips.

Henry grinned. It had been far too long since she'd joked with him like this. "Maybe I just want to be near you," he retorted, shrugging. "Is that so wrong?"

"No, it's not, but that's not the only thing. Let's not forget which one of us has a superpower, and oh, by the way, holding your hands behind your back is not exactly the epitome of subtlety. You, kid, are up to something."

Heat rushed to Henry's cheeks. Okay, yeah, maybe he could have been a little sneakier, but he was just so excited! He wanted to make her happy so very badly and he really, really hoped his present would put a smile on her face. A real, lasting smile. A smile that would help her not be so sad anymore.

With a shy grin, he pulled the box out from behind his back and held it out to her. "I got you a present."

"Oh, kid," she said, touched, as she took the box from his hand. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know. I wanted to."

She smiled at him and then looked down at the box in her hand. It seemed as if it took her forever to open it, but when she did, she gasped in surprise. She gingerly reached her other hand up to touch the medallion, her index finger lighting over the graceful swans in the shield. She raised her eyes to her son. "Where did you get this?"

Her gasp had caught her parents' attention. They both let the remainder of the dishes sit and approached the sofa to see what was going on. As soon as Snow got a good look at the medallion, she gasped as well. "My word, it's lovely!"

David turned an amazed look on his grandson, who grinned. So far, Operation Ladybug was a resounding success! Henry watched as David reached over Emma's shoulder to run a finger down the face of the medallion as well. "The detail work is exquisite. I've seen something similar to this before. Each of King George's knights had a medallion engraved with the royal crest."

Upon learning that the medallion could very well be an Enchanted Forest artifact, Emma once again addressed her son. "Henry, where did you get this?"

"I found it in the woods," he replied, the cover story he'd come up with earlier slipping easily from his lips. "When I cleaned it up and realized it had swans on it, I thought you might like to have it."

Something about the expression on Emma's face told him she didn't quite believe him. Still, she didn't say anything about her suspicion. She simply removed the medallion from the box so she could examine it more closely. A silver loop at the top indicated that the medallion was once hung on a ribbon or a chain. It was only after bringing the medallion closer to her face that she spotted the tiny lone cygnet beside the swans.

A baby swan, which could represent either her or Henry. The swords … those were her and her father. And the shield encompassing all of them represented her mother, the protector and the guardian. A smile curled onto her lips even as hot tears began to prick the back of her eyes. "It's gorgeous," she said, turning a touched smile on her son. Her amazing kid had found her the most wonderfully perfect present. "And it's absolutely perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Henry replied softly. And when she pulled him into a tight hug, he knew beyond a doubt that Operation Ladybug had worked its magic.

With touched smiles of their own, Snow and David went back to finish the dishes, leaving Emma and Henry together in the living room. Henry pulled out of the hug, but before he could go too far, Emma wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to her side. Beaming, he accepted and cuddled up with her on the sofa. It seemed that Operation Ladybug had been more than a success; Emma snuggles were very, very rare.

The two of them sat in silence, Emma still examining the medallion and Henry perfectly content with the snuggling. The after-dinner peace in the quiet apartment was soon shattered. Their downstairs neighbor had apparently begun some kind of small construction project because the repetitive bang of a hammer floated up through the floor.

Henry could practically feel Emma tensing up, and the longer the banging went on, the more tense she became. After a couple of minutes, Emma grumbled, "Oh my God, I wish they would just stop already."

A quick flash of white light emanated from Emma's hand and instantly, the hammering stopped. Henry bolted upright on the sofa, his eyes wide. What the heck had just happened?

He stared at Emma, who didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual. Had she really not seen that? Judging by the confused and concerned expression on her face when she caught him looking at her as if he'd just seen a ghost, she hadn't. "What's the matter?" she asked, sitting up straight herself in response to her son's agitation.

"It … you … you just wished for the hammering to stop and it did. Your wish came true; you made it stop."

"What? No, I didn't. It was a coincidence, Henry."

No, it wasn't. Deep down, Henry knew that it wasn't a coincidence. If it was a coincidence, why had there been a flash of light from her hand holding the medallion?

The medallion! Mr. Gold had said it was a good luck charm from the Enchanted Forest. Maybe it was magic! "Well, if you didn't do it, that did," he shakily said, pointing towards the silver disc in his mother's hand.

Emma looked from him to the medallion and back again. "Henry–"

"_You_ stopped the hammering, Mom," he insisted. "You wished it! Watch, let me show you." Before she had the chance to protest, he snatched the medallion from her hand. Gripping it tightly, he wished for the first thing that popped into his mind that she wouldn't be able to blame on coincidence: "I wish this room were filled with bubbles."

Absolutely nothing happened. No burst of light from his hand, no bubbles pouring forth from anywhere. Not even one little soap bubble from the bottle of dish detergent!

Henry stared down at the medallion, completely baffled. But … it had granted Emma's wish! Why had it granted hers and not his?

"Like I said," Emma said softly as she slipped the medallion from his grip, "it was a coincidence."

"Yeah," Henry murmured. "Maybe."

Sensing that he needed a joke, she nudged him playfully. "And really, bubbles? You couldn't have come up with something better than 'I wish the room was full of bubbles?'"

Another flash of white light burst from Emma's hand just as a loud gurgling sound erupted from the washing machine. Henry watched with wide eyes as a trail of suds spilled into the living room. "Charming, the washing machine!" Snow cried, running towards the machine to turn it off. "How much detergent did you put in?!"

"The normal amount!" David cried as he dashed to the linen closet to grab some towels.

"Then what's happening?"

"I don't know!" He set the towels down on the floor to staunch the flow of suds.

Emma and Henry were up in a flash, helping David mop up the soapy water flowing over the floor. They managed to get the floor mopped up and dried while Snow dealt with the washing machine. The clothes were going to have to go through a couple of extra cycles to rid them of the suds but everything else seemed to be normal. Snow put her hands on her hips and frowned down at her soap-covered laundry.

"That was really weird," David panted.

"Yeah," Emma murmured. Her eyes drifted to the medallion, which still lay on the couch, forgotten in the chaos.

She approached the sofa almost hesitantly and bent down, grasping the medallion in her fingers. As she turned it over in her hands, Henry could practically see the wheels spinning in her head. The hammering, the bubbles …

On a hunch, she closed her hand around the medallion and whispered, "I wish I had a hot fudge sundae."

This time she saw the flash of light emanate from her hand. Her eyes widened even further when David stepped towards them, brushing his arm across his forehead in the wake of the soap crisis. "You know what I think we all need? Some ice cream sundaes. I'll go get them if you tell me what you want."

Emma's jaw dropped open again. She'd just wished for a sundae and here was her father, offering to get her one. To further her little experiment, she said, "We just finished dinner. Why do you think we need ice cream?"

David frowned as if he couldn't quite figure out the answer to her question. "You know, now that you ask, I'm not really sure. I'm still so stuffed I honestly don't think I could eat another thing." He heaved a sigh. "What the hell is up with tonight? First the washing machine and now this. Did we get dropped into an episode of _The Twilight Zone_ or something?"

Emma was so busy puzzling things out that she didn't even register the fact that David had taken a page out of her book and made a pop culture reference. She stared down at the medallion in her hand before turning to face her son. "Henry, where did you get this? For real this time."

Uh oh. There was no use denying it now; he was so busted. He cringed as he said, "Mr. Gold's shop."

"Henry!"

"I didn't know it was magic, I swear! I just wanted to give you something that would make you smile. Mr. Gold picked it out, and I thought it was perfect for you."

Emma set her jaw in a way that made Henry wince. "What exactly did he say, and how much did he charge you for it?"

"He didn't charge me anything. He just said that it was a good luck charm and that he thought it was exactly what you needed." Aw, _man_. Now that Henry knew the medallion was magical, he finally caught the hidden meaning behind Mr. Gold's words. Why on earth did he think Emma needed some kind of magical item, though? "I'm sorry. You've been so sad lately and I just wanted to get you something to make you feel better. I didn't know, I promise I didn't know."

The anger on Emma's face softened before fleeing entirely at Henry's admission. He hadn't meant to cause trouble; he'd only been trying to help. "Oh, kid, it's all right," she murmured as she pulled him into a hug.

"What on earth is going on?" Snow asked, hands still slightly soapy, her eyes darting from her husband to her daughter to her grandson and back again.

Emma held up the medallion and sighed heavily. "This thing isn't just a decoration. It seems that it also grants wishes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This is another one of those chapters that ran away from me. Oops? Also, you all are still awesome. :)

* * *

The perplexed and slightly panicked look on Snow's face struck Emma as almost comical. Almost, because no matter how amusing the expression on her mother's face, they still had a very big, very medallion-shaped problem.

"That's not quite true, you know," Henry spoke up.

Emma blinked at her son in confusion. _Huh?_ "What's not quite true?"

"You said it grants wishes, but it doesn't grant _everyone's_ wishes. It grants _your_ wishes." Emma must have looked as bewildered as she felt because Henry gave an impatient roll of his eyes. "Remember? Nothing happened when I wished for bubbles. It was only when _you_ wished for the bubbles that the thing with the washing machine happened."

"Wait a minute," Snow interrupted, "you wished for the washing machine to go nuts?"

"No!" Emma heaved a sigh as she crossed the room and sank back down on the sofa. If she was going to attempt to make sense of what was going on, she needed to sit.

Her eyes traveled to the medallion. It certainly didn't look like it was magical. It just looked like a simple engraved silver disc, something one would keep in a frame on a shelf or on the wall as a keepsake. Weren't magical items supposed to, like, glow or something? Give off some kind of warning sign so that impressionable young boys didn't accidentally give them to their mothers?

"We didn't wish for the washing machine to go nuts," Henry informed his grandmother. "I was just trying to prove to her that the medallion granted her wish for the hammering to stop."

Oh, holy crap! The hammering! It _had_ stopped the second she'd wished it … but how? "Maybe someone should go down and check on Mr. Horner? I–" Emma stopped short when she realized the medallion was still in her hand. She set it down on the coffee table and pushed it away, not wanting to have even the remotest contact with it when she said the W-word.

Or maybe she should just avoid the W-word altogether. Yeah, that was a much better idea. "I, um, wanted him to stop hammering – out loud – and he did."

David's eyes widened. "I'll go."

Emma let out a breath of relief, both at David's willingness to go on a welfare check and at the fact that the medallion had remained completely passive and flash-of-light-free. David patted Emma's shoulder and grasped Snow's hand before disappearing through the front door.

Snow heaved a sigh of her own as she eased down on the sofa next to her daughter. "So what happened with the washing machine?"

"I was just trying to think of something to wish for that she wouldn't able to say was a coincidence," Henry shrugged, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I wished for the room to be filled with bubbles. I didn't think anything would happen to the washing machine! I was thinking of, you know, bubbles. The kind you blow outside with a plastic wand dipped into a bottle of soap. But my original point was, it didn't work when _I_ said it. It only worked when _you_ said it, Mom."

"_You_ wished for the room to be filled with bubbles?" Snow asked, blinking at her daughter in utter confusion.

"I was actually mocking his wish," Emma admitted, glancing apologetically at Henry. "I repeated it, and that's when the washing machine flipped its shit. To be fair to Henry, I was imagining soap bubbles, too, not a river of suds from the washer."

Snow winced at Emma's language, then turned a wary eye on the medallion. Everyone was quiet for a long moment as they tried to process not only what had happened but what the hell to do about it. A large part of Emma didn't care what happened to the medallion, as long as it was far away from her family and everyone else. It was the part of Emma that recognized what an amazing and caring thing her amazing and caring kid had done by getting her such a perfect gift that wanted to hold onto the thing and never let it go.

If only the damn thing didn't grant wishes.

After a long moment of thought, Snow clasped the medallion in her palm and said, "I wish I could hear some music."

Strike one for Snow. Not a single thing happened. Emma arched an eyebrow at her mother. "You could have had anything you wanted, and you asked for music? I don't know if you know, but there are these things called radios that let you hear music whenever you want."

Snow fixed a mildly unamused look on her daughter. "I wanted the wish to be relatively benign in case it actually worked," she replied evenly before holding the medallion out to Emma. "Your turn."

Emma didn't exactly want a turn but the concerned yet determined expression on her mother's face told her not to argue. Her heart pounded in her chest as she plucked the medallion from Snow's waiting palm and wrapped her fingers around it. Since Snow's wish had indeed been relatively harmless, Emma decided to repeat it. "I wish I could hear some music."

A burst of white light issued forth from either the medallion itself or Emma's hand. A split second later, the radio Snow kept in the kitchen turned on of its own volition … and at full volume, causing all three of them to jump. Henry slapped his hands over his ears as Snow shot up from the sofa and ran over to turn off the radio.

"Holy shit," Emma murmured, staring down at the medallion. It _was_ only granting her wishes. What the _hell_?

David entered the apartment then, brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on? I heard the radio all the way out in the stairwell."

"Mom wished to hear music," Henry informed him, as if that were the whole story.

He cast a vaguely perplexed glance over his family before shaking off the emotion. He'd get the scoop in a minute after he delivered his news. "Mr. Horner is fine. As far as he's concerned, he simply tired of putting his bookcase together and decided to stop for the night."

"So, what, it was like what happened with you and the ice cream?" Emma asked him. "I ask for something and it puts thoughts in other people's heads to get me what I want?"

"Seems like."

The very idea of it made Emma squirm. She didn't like the fact that she'd affected someone else's thoughts and actions in that way, however inadvertently. With the right damn wish, she could _bend wills_.

Oh, if news of this wish-granting medallion ever got out, it had the potential to go wrong in so very many ways. In a way, she was almost glad hat it was only granting her wishes. The notion of wishing away someone else's free will made her want to vomit but certain other residents of Storybrooke might not find that prospect so nauseating.

"What'd I miss up here?" David asked, plopping down on the opposite end of the sofa.

"A little experiment of sorts," Snow informed him as she squeezed in between her daughter and husband. "So far, the medallion seems to only be responding to Emma's wishes. I tried and it didn't work. Emma wished for the exact same thing, verbatim, and poof!"

David cast a glance at her that was equal parts wonder and bewilderment. _Right there with you_, Emma thought, sighing.

Snow was apparently eager to move on to step two of the experiment. "Try putting it down and wishing for something."

_Oh_, no. Emma had had enough wishes tonight to last the rest of her life. She shook her head and was about to say as much when Snow added, "We need to know how it works, Emma, if only so that you don't end up making accidental wishes."

No, what they needed to do was put the damn thing back in its box and return it to Gold with a thanks but no thanks. A glance up at Henry, though, brought back all the awe and amazement and … love that had flowed through her when she first opened that box, the touching sentiment of someone searching for something to give her just to put a smile on her face.

This medallion had been a gift, and though it had been far more than her son had realized when he picked it out for her, she did have to admit that the piece itself was loving and thoughtful and _perfect_.

Heaving a sigh, she set the medallion on the coffee table. Once again, she decided to repeat her mother's wish since the only damage that wish had caused was making their hearts skip a beat. "I wish I heard music."

This time she was able to see that what she'd thought was a singular flash of light was actually two separate flashes: one came from the medallion and one came from her own hand. The radio once again turned itself on full-blast. David shot to his feet to turn the radio off, but Emma hollered to be heard over the music, "No, don't!"

She had an experiment of her own she wanted to perform.

"I wish to undo my last wish," she said, and after the two flashes of light, the radio powered down.

The rest of her family looked as shell-shocked as Emma felt. The fact that she could take back her wishes was at least a small comfort. The rest of it, though … she didn't even have to be holding the thing for it to work. She just had to be in its general vicinity.

There were no words for how many ways this could be very, very, _very_ bad. What was she going to do, live in fear every day of her life of accidentally saying "I wish," even in jest or frustration?

Henry glanced from his grandparents to his mother, guilt swimming in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, kid, it's not your fault," Emma reminded him. "You were just trying to do something nice. Gold's the one who has something to answer for."

Gold. He was the one who gave Henry the medallion in the first place; there was no way he didn't know what the thing could do. Suddenly furious, Emma pushed herself to her feet. "As a matter of fact, I think we all need to pay him a little visit. Now."

* * *

Snow, David, and Henry trailed behind Emma as she threw open the door to Gold's shop, causing the bell to jangle wildly. Gold looked up to greet the little family at their arrival, a calm, pleasant smile on his face. "Ah, I had an inkling I'd be seeing all of you this evening."

Emma, however, was too angry for pleasantries. She slammed the box down on the counter and glared at him. "What the hell is the meaning of this?"

Gold glanced past her shoulder at Henry before returning his attention to her. "It looks to me like a thoughtful present from a son to his mother."

_Oh_, no. The imp's playing dumb was _not_ going to fly with Emma, not tonight. "It's more than that, and you know it. What is this, and why did you give it to Henry to give to me?"

Snow and David stepped closer to her, and one of them – she thought it was David – ran a hand comfortingly up and down her back. Henry sidled up to her, slipped his hand into hers, and squeezed. She squeezed back, another silent assurance that she didn't blame him.

No, her kid had been tricked by a trickster, and she didn't like it one bit.

A tiny, vaguely amused smiled pulled at Gold's lips. That smile combined with the mischievous glint in his eye, and Emma caught a sudden and brief glimpse of Rumpelstiltskin. "The young boy came into my shop and mentioned that his mother was feeling sad. I offered to give him something to give you to make you feel better."

"You know that this is not what he had in mind." Gold remained impassive. Emma heaved a weary sigh. Anger was getting her nowhere; she might as well get as much information as she could while she was here. "Why does it only respond to me?"

"You're the one who's got True Love running through your veins, Miss Swan. We've discussed this before. Why do you think it only responds to you?"

_Aw, shit,_ she thought, her eyes widening in realization. Of _course _it would only respond to her. It was magical, she had magic; magic responding to magic.

"Now you get it," Gold smirked at her. "And to answer your question of why I gifted Henry a wish-granting medallion to gift to you, do you mean to tell me that you don't have a few wishes you'd like granted?"

Well yeah, of course she did. Everyone had wishes … things they wished they had done, things they wished they hadn't done, things they wished they could experience. But having wishes granted through magical means? She wanted absolutely no part of that. "Not like this," she replied, pushing the box across the counter.

She turned to leave then, shutting her eyes against the ache in her heart of leaving such an amazing gift from her kid behind. Henry squeezed her hand again, this time letting her know he understood. David gave her an understanding and proud smile while Snow briefly reached up to cup Emma's cheek in her palm.

Behind them, Gold heaved a calm sigh. "It seems to me, Miss Swan, that this simple medallion could give you and your family everything you've all been wanting. All that time you lost with your parents, all that time you missed with Henry. You could simply .. wish it all back."

That made everyone stop short. Snow and David both gasped, longing and pain and desperation flashing in their eyes. Henry warily darted his gaze from one adult to another in succession.

Emma spun around and stared at Gold. "Tell you what, Miss Swan," the shopkeeper said as he pushed the box back across the counter towards her. "Why don't you take it back home and mull it over? Sleep on it, if you will. If, after a while, you still want to return it, I'll take it back, no questions asked."

A myriad of conflicting emotions flew through Emma. She had no desire to use her magic simply to get what she _maybe_ wanted … but there was a little girl inside her somewhere who'd always wanted her real mommy and her real daddy. This world was full of books and movies and TV shows that highlighted how magical wishes never ended well … but she'd grown up _so_ alone. All magic came with a price … but she'd already paid a massive, undue price for the curse, and maybe magic owed _her_ for once.

Despite the deep longing inside of her, she had every intention of turning around and walking out the door without the medallion. Which was why she was shocked to find herself picking up the box and grasping it tightly, thereby silently assenting to Gold's offer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Clearly, I've missed writing Snow and Emma like this. This is another one of those chapters that just wrote itself.

* * *

"Emma!" Snow called after her daughter, who was currently stomping away from Gold's shop … and in the complete opposite direction of Charming's truck. She hadn't said a single thing since taking the medallion back, and to put it mildly, Snow was concerned. "Emma, wait! We have to talk about this!"

"No, we don't," Emma hollered without breaking stride or even looking over her shoulder.

For a long moment, a shell-shocked Snow could only watch her daughter walk away. Her head was spinning. If Emma wished it, they could have back the time they'd missed … but how? Snow remembered reading in Cora's spell book that no known spell or curse could rewind time. Pause it, surely, and manipulate it, absolutely, but rewinding was … impossible.

In order to reclaim lost time, would Emma have to wish to be a child again? Twenty-eight-year-old Emma would vanish and be replaced by, what, six-year-old Emma? Permanently?

She supposed that would depend upon how Emma phrased the wish. If she even wanted to do it in the first place. On some level, she did, because she took the medallion, but the implications and the complications and the logistics were … mind-boggling.

If Snow's head was spinning this much over everything that had gone on in the shop, Emma's head had to be doing a routine on the uneven bars. Emma _needed_ to talk, whether she wanted to admit it or not. All three of them following after her would only upset her, so Snow turned to face her still-panicked husband and her upset grandson. "Charming, I need you to take Henry home."

"Snow–"

"I mean it." Her voice was soft but stern, brooking no dissent. "I will find our daughter, but in the meantime, I need you to take our grandson home." She smiled down at Henry, cupping his face in her palms. "I bet a big mug of hot chocolate with cinnamon sounds really good right about now, doesn't it?"

Henry sniffled and blinked back tears as he nodded.

"It's settled, then," she said with a glance up at Charming. He gave her a slight nod as well, though she could tell he did not at all like the idea of leaving without Emma. Upon receiving confirmation that her husband was on board with the plan – albeit not entirely happily – she returned her attention to her grandson. "Your mom's going to be fine, sweetheart."

"This is all my fault," he said, his voice barely audible. "If I hadn't come up with Operation Ladybug, none of this would be happening. I'm really sorry, Gramma."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Henry," she assured him. "You were just trying to do something nice for Emma, which was a really lovely and thoughtful thing to do. I know you want to help, but the best thing you can do for me is let your grandfather take you home. Your mom and I will be home soon, all right?"

"All right," he nodded. After Snow exchanged one final glance with her husband, the little family went their separate ways. Henry and Charming headed for the truck while Snow took off in the direction Emma had gone.

Of course, Emma could have ended up anywhere by now. It only took a few seconds of thought for Snow to choose a destination. Some people went for walks in the woods when they were upset, some people went shopping, some people went to a bar. Emma didn't do any of those things, though. No, when she was upset and needed to think, Emma Swan went to the water.

And sure enough, after a brisk walk down to the harbor, Snow did indeed find her wayward daughter. She was sitting on a bench, her fingers lighting over the velvet box she held in her right hand. Her gaze was directed at the ocean, and she appeared to be so lost in thought that she didn't even seem to notice that the wind was whipping her hair into her eyes. A breath of relief escaped Snow's lips at the confirmation that her baby was okay.

Physically, at least.

Emma gave a little flinch when Snow approached the bench, which was the only reason Snow knew her daughter had even seen her. She didn't say a word, nor did she look away from the churning sea.

Since an overt display of support and comfort would have only closed Emma off even more, Snow did the only thing she could think to do: settle in for the wait. Emma wouldn't stay silent forever. When Emma Swan was ready to talk, she talked, and Snow was determined to be there for her when she did.

Snow had no idea how long they sat in silence. She glanced over at Emma occasionally, just to make sure there was no change in her demeanor for the worse. The breeze by the water was chilly, and Snow had just begun to shiver when Emma said, "Henry's out of the question."

The tension was practically radiating from Emma's body, and she'd begun clenching and unclenching her free hand so tightly that Snow thought she saw fingernail marks on her baby's palm. She reached over and covered Emma's hand with hers, stilling it instantly.

At that, Emma's eyes finally found her mother's. "Regina would never agree to it, and I couldn't do it without …" She sighed. "She's his mother, too."

"I completely understand," Snow replied softly, because it was the truth. She and Charming and Emma would be furious if Regina ever tried something so drastic with Henry behind their backs. Even if Henry wanted it, it would be wrong to do it behind Regina's back.

"It wouldn't be a rewind, would it?" Emma asked. "I mean, I'm not holding a magical DeLorean in this box."

Snow smiled at her pop culture reference, since it was one she actually understood. "No, it wouldn't be a rewind. As far as I know, there is no such thing as a magical rewind." When Emma nodded and turned to stare out at the water again, Snow released her daughter's hand. She longed to pull her baby into a hug and just hold her until everything was all right again, but unfortunately, that approach would not work with Emma. No, once again, the only approach was to settle in and wait.

After another silent few minutes, Emma tucked the velvet box back into her jacket pocket. Then she drew her legs up, heels resting on the bench and arms wrapping around her knees. The position reminded Snow of a very young, very sad, very scared child, and it broke her heart.

"I don't even know if I want to do this or not," Emma said into her knees, "but let's say I do wish myself back into a kid. How does that make me any better than them?"

Snow was confused. "Than whom, Regina and Rumpelstiltskin?" Though Emma neither confirmed nor denied verbally, the pain flooding her eyes was confirmation enough. "Emma, you are nothing like them, do you understand me? _Nothing_. It wouldn't be the same thing at all."

"Sure seems like it to me," she argued, giving half a shrug. "I'd be using magic to get what I want. That's the very definition of what they do."

"No, they use magic to hurt. They use magic to inflict pain and to destroy. That is the polar opposite of what you'd be doing." Emma swallowed hard, shaking her head. Snow broke out her stern mother voice in earnest, causing Emma to look over at her in surprise. "Emma Swan, you listen to me. Doing this would not put you anywhere near the same realm as those two. They use their magic to punish. You would not be punishing anybody; you'd simply be collecting something you're owed."

"And Regina cast the curse because she thought she was owed vengeance. I don't see how it's any different."

"It's different because your goal wouldn't be to destroy, Emma. It would be to heal."

And just like that, the walls that had been lowering shot straight back up again. Snow winced as Emma turned away, once again staring out at the sea.

Snow turned her attention to the sea as well, watching a seagull circle one area in particular before dive-bombing the water. It came up empty, the fish it had spied having darted away, and restarted the process.

Just like before, Snow waited out her daughter. And just like before, she was rewarded for her patience when Emma fidgeted on the bench and started speaking. "As everyone informs me, all magic comes with a price. I wouldn't be the one to pay the price for this, though. Henry would. I-I'd be taking away his mother. Well, one of them, anyway."

Sensing that her daughter needed a joke, Snow teased, "Maybe, but you'd also be giving him a little sister."

The joke worked; an amused smile tugged at the corner of Emma's mouth. Only for a second or two, but Snow would take it. Then Emma sighed as she sobered up and returned to the matter at hand. "I couldn't do that to Henry. I couldn't leave him the way–" She stopped short, her pained and apologetic eyes darting to Snow.

And in an instant, Snow knew how she'd been planning on finishing that sentence. "You couldn't leave him the way we left you."

Emma swallowed hard while nodding in confirmation. "But then I think about you and David, and how can I deny you this chance? So how the hell do I choose? No matter what I decide to do, someone gets hurt. Do I hurt Henry or do I hurt you guys?"

With tears brimming in her eyes and threatening to fall, Snow grasped her daughter's hands. "Emma, I would love to have had even five minutes with you when you were growing up. I would love to know what you looked like, what drove you, what made you happy. What games you likes to play, what you liked to do. Whether your favorite color was pink or blue or purple or something else entirely. All that being said, from the day you drove into this town, you've been so unbelievably special to me. I have you now, and I can't imagine my life without you_,_ the adult you. I love you, Emma Swan, in any incarnation I can have you."

Tears had begin to well in Emma's eyes now. Snow smiled gently at her as she ran her free thumb along her baby's cheek. "This decision has to be yours, Emma. You can't base it on what you think everyone else wants. If you want to wish yourself back, then go ahead. I can tell you right now, David and I would be thrilled. But if you don't, that's perfectly fine as well. David and I would be thrilled with that option, too, because we have _you_. It's up to you, and we'll be behind you, no matter what you decide to do."

For a long moment, Emma didn't say a word. Then she swallowed hard and whispered, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Snow replied, smiling at her baby. "Now let's go home, hmm? I'm freezing, and you don't look like you're any warmer." She stood and held her hand out to Emma. To her relief, Emma complied, grasping her hand and allowing her to pull her to her feet.

As they began walking back to the apartment side by side, Emma murmured, "Yellow."

"What about it?" Snow asked.

"My favorite color when I was little. Pale yellow, like the color of a chick."

There were those pesky tears again, making Snow's vision blurry. She blinked rapidly to clear them as she reached down to take her daughter's hand. And when Emma not only accepted the comfort but squeezed Snow's hand, seeking comfort as well, Snow felt her heart warm inside her chest.

_It's a start_, she thought, squeezing her baby's hand back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I think this might be my first actual warning: there are a couple of brief hints at child abuse in this chapter. No descriptions, just hints. And because it can't be said enough: You all are still awesome. :)

* * *

A sullen and weary Emma followed Snow up the two flights of stairs to their shared apartment. The talk with her mother had calmed her a little bit, but she still had no idea what to do about the medallion. She could feel it in her jacket pocket, the weight of the box seeming to grow heavier with each passing minute.

Did she really want to wish herself back to a kid? Was using magic to do so really a risk she wanted to take?

This was one of those times that made her long for the days when her biggest problem in Storybrooke was Regina being a bitch.

Since David had taken the truck back home, he'd also taken the keys. Snow had to knock on the door to announce their presence, but they weren't left waiting long at all. A slightly frantic David whipped the door open about half a second after Snow's knock. He relaxed visibly when his eyes landed on Emma. Behind him, Henry's little face flooded with relief as well.

Emma felt a sudden rush of guilt. They'd been _so_ worried about her. She hadn't even realized they'd be worried about her. "I'm sorry I scared you," she said softly as she stepped across the threshold. "I just needed to … think for a few minutes."

"It's perfectly all right, Emma," David assured her. Henry nodded as well, smiling almost shyly at her.

Emma gave the kid a little smile back as she shrugged off her jacket. She removed the velvet box from the jacket pocket and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans instead. David held his hand out for her jacket, and after a brief hesitation, she handed it over to him.

He smiled at her as he hung her jacket on the coat hook for her. "Are you doing all right?"

"Yeah," she replied even though she didn't think that was the truth. It certainly didn't feel like she was all right. Her head was still spinning with the implications of the choice in front of her, and the emotional moment down by the water with her mother had left her exhausted. In all honesty, she really just wanted to collapse in bed and not think about it for the next little while.

When she voiced said desire, her parents exchanged a concerned glance. "Look, I know that avoiding the problem isn't going to make it go away," she said, looking them both in the eye. "It's just that I'm _tired_. I can't make a decision right now and I'm sick of thinking about it."

It was Snow who relented, squeezing her hand quickly but comfortingly. "Of course, Emma. Go on up and rest."

Emma sent Snow a grateful look and then excused herself to disappear upstairs. She kicked off her boots, pulled the medallion out of her jeans pocket, and flopped down on her bed. She lay down on her back, settling the velvet box on her stomach with her hand covering it. She didn't want to think about it anymore and yet she couldn't seem to stop.

If she did wish herself back to, say, eight years old, would she still know her parents? Henry? Or would she only have the experiences of her eight-year-old self? What if she wished herself back to eight years old and didn't like it? She could always wish to undo her wish, but if she ended up with no memory of making the wish, how would she know to undo it?

Emma had figured she'd be staring at the ceiling and stewing over everything for a while, but her eyes soon slid closed. When she felt herself starting to drift a moment or two later, she didn't bother to fight it.

When she woke up, it was dark. _Really_ dark, which meant it was probably some godawful time in the wee hours of the morning. A glance at her bedside clock proved her instinct correct: the little red numbers glowed 2:37. Groaning softly, she reached over and turned on her bedside lamp.

After her eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of thankfully dim light, she saw that someone had draped a blanket over her while she was asleep. That same someone must have slipped the velvet box from her hand, because it now sat on her nightstand.

There were two people in the apartment who would have tucked her in like that, and tonight Emma was willing to put her money on Snow.

Henry must have come up to bed hours ago because he was sound asleep in his daybed, the comforter pulled up to his ears and one foot sticking out over the edge of the mattress. Smiling slightly, she climbed out of bed, pulled the comforter back down around Henry's shoulders, and spread it out to cover his foot. The kid seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so she felt comfortable leaving the room for a few minutes. She grasped the velvet box, turned off the lamp so the light wouldn't disturb Henry, and tiptoed down the stairs.

A lamp had remained on downstairs. Snow had begun leaving a light on the second night after their return from the Enchanted Forest. With various members of the family up and down during the night, due to red room nightmares or the soothing of those nightmares, she'd decided it was worth leaving one three-way lamp on the lowest setting until morning.

Emma made her way over to the sofa, plopped down, and opened the box. The antique silver glinted in the low light, as if winking at her.

What the hell was she going to do? Yeah, she would have given anything to have some childhood memories that didn't all-out suck. And yeah, she would have loved to have her mommy and her daddy with her when she was growing up, real parents who really truly loved her.

But did she really want to give up everything she had now to get it?

Unless … it was a wish, right? Who said it had to be permanent? Maybe she could just wish to go back for a week or something. On the other hand, would giving her parents a taste of raising her as a kid and then taking it away after a few days be crueler than not going back at all?

Oh, forget it. She had no freakin' clue what to do, and a decision this big and life-changing was not meant to be made at … ugh, ten of three in the morning. She turned on the TV instead. Maybe the low drone of some mindless sitcom would help clear her head.

It took a while but she eventually did relax enough to curl up on her side, still holding the open velvet box. She drew a blanket down from the back of the sofa and covered herself up. _I just wish I knew what it would be like, even if it's only for a day_, she thought, _to be like, eight years old and have someone truly love me_.

Her half-asleep brain did not register the wording of her thought, and her eyes drifted closed before she could catch a glimpse of the dual flash of light that indicated the medallion working its particular brand of magic.

* * *

_Something's wrong_. Snow's eyes snapped open at the thought.

It was a gut feeling, a little rumbling in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong but what? Charming was lying next to her, still asleep, so he was fine. It was quiet in the apartment, so it didn't seem like anything was wrong with Emma or Henry, either.

No, wait. It wasn't quiet. If she listened hard, she could hear faint, tinny voices coming from the living room. The television? Who was watching television at quarter of seven in the morning?

Snow climbed out of bed, trying and failing not to disturb her husband. "Is everything all right?" he mumbled after letting out a sleepy moan.

"Yes. Go back to sleep."

Something about the tone of her voice must have given away her concern because he was wide awake in a fraction of a second. He climbed out of bed as well and sidled up to her, silently refusing to let her go through anything alone. She smiled at her wonderful husband and led him out of the bedroom.

They tiptoed up the stairs to check on Henry and Emma. Henry was still in bed, fast asleep, but Emma's bed was empty. It was even still made, though the comforter was rumpled from her sleeping on top of it the night before. The blanket Snow had draped over her when she'd gone up to check on her lay in a crumpled heap in middle of the bed, and the velvet box containing the medallion was gone.

Snow and Charming exchanged a concerned glance and crept back downstairs. This time they followed the sound of the television to the living room, and as they approached the sofa, Snow gasped and stopped short. One hand shot to her mouth to muffle the sound while the other reached for her husband's hand.

Sound asleep on the sofa was a little girl with long, soft blonde curls. She looked to be seven or eight years old but there was no doubt in Snow's mind who she was. She was drawn to the girl, the exact same way she'd been drawn to the woman the day she'd first set foot in Mary Margaret's classroom. "Emma," she breathed.

Oh, yes, that beautiful little girl was her Emma. She knew it in her soul.

"But … I thought you said she didn't know if she wanted to do this," Charming managed to murmur through his own shock.

Snow blinked, coming back to reality a bit. "She didn't." So what had happened? She couldn't imagine that Emma would have just gone ahead and made the wish without giving anyone a heads-up.

She ran her eyes over the scene in front of her. Emma's little arm was dangling over the edge of the couch, and on the floor underneath her hand lay the medallion and its velvet box. Had she been holding it and dropped it in her sleep? If so, had she somehow made a wish without meaning to do so? She crept forward, picked up silver piece, set it back in the box, and quietly snapped it closed. "Unless she didn't do it on purpose," she murmured to her husband.

Charming was still staring at the little girl his daughter had somehow become, pure love shining in his eyes. "She's our baby, Snow. She's our baby."

Snow squeezed her husband's hand. That she was, but that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach hadn't gone away. Something about this still didn't feel right.

She broke away from Charming and crouched down in front of the sofa. She brushed the little girl's hair out of her eyes, smiling despite her misgivings when Emma stirred at her touch. "Emma, honey, it's time to wake up."

The girl's eyes fluttered open but the second she caught sight of Snow, she shot upright and made herself small in the corner of the couch. She wrapped the blanket around herself tightly, almost protectively. "Who are you?"

_Uh_ oh. Snow exchanged a troubled and pained glance with Charming. Emma didn't know them. Then again, why would she? If she'd really reverted to her childhood self, of course she'd have no memory of them.

Their poor little daughter's eyes darted between them and eventually settled on Snow. Charming squeezed her hand, telling her to handle the explanation. Both of them approaching her would only frighten Emma further, and she seemed to be looking to Snow for answers.

The only problem was that Snow had no idea what to say. This Emma not only didn't know them, but she didn't also didn't know anything about her destiny or who everyone really was. This Emma still thought all the residents of Storybrooke were just characters in a book; Snow couldn't exactly introduce herself to the girl as Snow White. And something about the wary look in little Emma's eyes told Snow that claiming to be her real parents would go over just as well as claiming to be Snow White and Prince Charming.

"I'm Mary Margaret," she said eventually, giving her sweet little daughter a friendly smile, "and this is David. We're going to be taking care of you now."

The girl's eyes flicked to Charming and then back to Snow. "But Mr. and Mrs. Gerrity are taking care of me."

"Not anymore. Now we are, all right?"

The fear on her baby's face made sense, considering she'd woken up in completely foreign surroundings and in the care of strangers. It was the sheer distrust clouding Emma's eyes that broke Snow's heart. How much pain and how much mistreatment had her poor baby experienced already in her young life to have that level of distrust?

Her next soft question took Snow's broken heart and absolutely shattered it. "You promise I don't have to go back to them?"

That, apparently, was the last straw for Charming. He crouched down in front of the sofa as well, looking his little girl in the eye. "We promise, Emma. You'll never have to go back to them again."

Bright green eyes once again darted from one adult to the other. Snow smiled in an effort to set the girl at ease and couldn't resist the urge to reach out to tuck Emma's hair behind her ear. Emma flinched and drew back from Snow's hand, fear flashing into her eyes.

Once again, a deep and heavy ache clamped down on Snow's heart as she dropped her hand back down to her side. Adult Emma had hinted at physical abuse before when talking to Mary Margaret, but Snow hadn't really wanted to believe it. Little Emma's reaction just now, however, was proof enough. Oh, her poor sweet baby girl. "I'm sorry, Emma. I'm not going to hurt you, and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Emma gave a little nod, accepting the apology. Her eyes traveled around the apartment, her inquisitive gaze drinking in all the details. "Are there any other kids here?"

Oh no, Henry! How on earth were they going to explain this to Henry? Granted, he'd known just from the discussion the day before that it was a possibility but dealing with a possibility and dealing with reality were two completely different things, as Snow was coming to discover. "There's a little boy here, too," Snow answered, once again giving her daughter a calming smile. "He's a couple of years old than you, I think. How old are you?"

"Eight." Now she sounded a little proud.

Snow's smile grew wider. Her little girl was _eight years old_. "Eight's a wonderful age."

"You really only have one other kid here?" Emma asked her, her voice low in amazement.

That was another thing adult Emma had told Mary Margaret … the foster families collecting kids. The more kids, the more money they brought in. "Just you and Henry," Snow confirmed. "He's eleven, and I have a funny feeling you and he are going to get along really well."

She was rewarded with a tiny smile.

"I bet you're hungry, hmm?" Charming asked, holding his hand out to his little daughter. "What do you say, kiddo? Do you think you're ready for some breakfast?"

Green eyes flicked between Snow and Charming as Emma tried to determine whether or not she could trust them. She must have decided that she could – at least a little bit – because she nodded and slipped her hand into her father's.

Charming looked like he was on cloud nine having his daughter's little hand in his. She moved to pull free as soon as she was on her feet and though Snow could tell he didn't want to, he let her hand go. She must have kicked off her jeans during the night but luckily the T-shirt she'd been wearing when she fell asleep fit her as a nightshirt now.

They'd have to put her in some of Henry's old clothes, at least for today.

_That_ was a complication Snow hadn't thought of until just now. How long was this going to last? A week? A month? Forever? If it hadn't been a conscious wish, would Emma have even thought to give it a time limit?

And if it hadn't been a conscious wish, had Emma _really_ wanted this? If she hadn't, would they be able to convince little Emma to wish herself back to an adult?

The only one who could give her the answers to any of her questions was now eight years old with no memory of what her adult self had been thinking the night before. Oh, this was a _nightmare_.

And yet, as she watched her small daughter climb up onto a stool at the kitchen island and her husband rattle off every cereal option in their cabinet, Snow couldn't help but smile. That smile grew a little wider when Emma softly asked for a bowl of Froot Loops.

Some things, apparently, didn't change.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** As you can probably tell by the length of these last couple of chapters, I'm having a boatload of fun with this. I hope you all are, too! :)

* * *

Snow stood at the counter, tenderly watching her sweet little baby girl eat a bowl of Froot Loops. Emma's attention was focused on some sort of hidden picture game on the back of the cereal box, leaving Snow and Charming free to focus their attention on her without making her uncomfortable.

It amazed Snow that something as simple as a child eating breakfast could … well, amaze her, and yet, everything about Emma eating breakfast amazed her. The way Emma's little hand wrapped around the spoon, the way her little brow furrowed as she tried to find a picture that was hidden a bit too well. The way her curls, still unruly from the tangles that had taken over during the night, framed her little face.

She met Charming's eyes, and the two of them shared a loving smile. Both were thinking the exact same thing: _She is absolutely perfect_.

A creak from the upstairs bedroom drew Snow out of her reverie. _Henry_. She needed to intercept the boy before he came downstairs to find his eight-year-old mother seated at the kitchen island and eating his Froot Loops.

Before she could even take one step forward, the boy in question padded down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Charming darted his gaze from Emma to Henry with panic on his face, panic that Snow was sure was mirrored in her own eyes.

Neither of them had the chance to stop him. Henry opened his mouth to say good morning his grandparents but he never got out a single word of the greeting. The words died in his throat as he froze in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes widening at the sight of the little girl currently occupying his seat at the island. "Emma?"

A startled Emma blinked, tore her attention from the hidden picture game, and looked up at Henry. "Yeah," she warily replied around a mouthful of cereal. "How'd you know?"

"Mary Margaret and I told him you were coming," Charming broke in, answering for Henry before he could say anything about magic and wishes and Emma being his mother. "Emma, this is Henry, the other little boy who lives here with us."

Emma swallowed her cereal before granting Henry a bashful, "Hi."

Her timid little voice cut through Henry's shock enough that he was able to answer her. "Hi," he replied, his amazement obvious.

He shot an utterly bewildered glance at Snow, who shook her head and mouthed, _Later. _He was certainly owed an explanation – or at the very least, he deserved to know what they assumed had happened – but she couldn't do so without making Emma uncomfortable. Talking about magical medallions in front of her was obviously a huge no-no, and even taking Henry aside to explain would look like Snow was sharing something with him that she was keeping from Emma. The poor little girl was gunshy as it was; the last thing Snow wanted to do was give her any reason to doubt her or Charming's intentions.

Fortunately for her, Henry was a kind and understanding little boy. He nodded at Snow, then rounded the counter to sit down next to his newly tiny mother. For her part, Emma had finished her cereal and was now staring at the hidden picture game in earnest, her chin propped up on her palm and her elbow on the counter.

Charming and Snow shared an amused and loving glance as they watched their little daughter concentrate. Henry was still staring at Emma, a mixture of confusion, delight, and sheer love on his face. After a wink at his wife, Charming slid his grandson a bowl and spoon for his breakfast.

The action cut through Henry's shock. He managed to smile a thank you at his grandfather before turning to address Emma. "Do you mind if I take the box for a minute?"

She blinked, his voice once again having broken her concentration. "You like Froot Loops, too?"

Again, his questioning and panicked eyes darted to Snow. This time he wasn't silently asking her what had happened. This time he was silently asking if Emma remembered _anything_ about them. And again, she shook her head; as far as they could tell, little Emma had a grand total of none of adult Emma's memories.

His shoulders slumped slightly as he nodded to let her know he understood. And yet, when he looked back at Emma, a smile curled on his lips. "They're my second favorite."

"They're my first favorite," Emma said as she slid the box over to Henry. "My second favorite is Cocoa Puffs. What's your first favorite?"

Snow and Charming exchanged a surprised look. Three full sentences in a row? That was pretty much a record. Maybe it was just because Henry was a child, too, or maybe it was because on some base level, Emma felt drawn to him the way Snow felt drawn to Emma. Either way, that was the most talkative she'd been since waking up.

And now that Henry was starting to get over the shock of finding that his mother had transformed into an eight-year-old overnight, Snow could see how utterly thrilled he was with the possibilities of this development. His eyes were sparkling and he couldn't seem to stop smiling at the little girl. "Lucky Charms."

"Ooh, those are good, too. I think they're my third favorite."

"My third favorite is Rice Krispies."

"Because they talk to you?"

He grinned at her. "Exactly."

Snow sidled up next to her husband as the two of them watched over the children. Henry poured his cereal and milk while Emma stared longingly at his bowl. A concerned frown pulled at Snow's lips, which only deepened when Emma stared even more longingly at the box of cereal when Henry was done with it.

After a moment, Snow figured out what the problem was. "Emma, if you're still hungry, you can have some more cereal."

"Really?" the girl breathed.

And there again was that vise grip on Snow's heart. How many times was her poor baby denied food? How many times had she gone hungry? "Absolutely," she said around the scratching in her throat. "You can have as much as you want."

At that proclamation, Henry nudged Emma, arched a single mischievous eyebrow at her, and proceeded to pour her an overflowing bowl of cereal. An honest-to-goodness giggle escaped the girl's lips as she snagged a couple of the Froot Loops that had fallen overboard and popped them into her mouth. "All right, you two," Charming said through an indulgent chuckle. "You can have as much as you want within reason."

Emma looked chagrined but when both Charming and Snow smiled at her, she relaxed a bit. The adults watched the children for another couple of minutes, and the longer they watched, the more antsy Snow became. Although her heart warmed at the sight of her daughter and grandson acting like two little peas in a pod, that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach hadn't truly gone away.

As lovely as this was, it wasn't right. If Emma hadn't meant to wish herself back into a child, it was wrong to leave her like this. And if she had wanted it … well, she could always wish it again once they got adult Emma back.

She looked up and caught her husband's eye. They needed to talk, and they needed to do so away from the two little pitchers currently occupying the room. He nodded at her, then glanced over at their bedroom.

Yes, the bedroom would be perfect; just out of earshot but not too far away. She nodded to let him know she was on board with the plan and then said, "Henry, will you keep an eye on Emma for a minute?"

Henry blinked in confusion before grinning at the notion that he was being charged with keeping an eye on his own mother. Emma, on the other hand, suddenly made herself small on the stool, the smile dropping from her face. Her eyes darted from the door down to her cereal bowl, and Snow could practically feel her withdrawing from them and from Henry.

And in one heart-rending moment, Snow understood. Her poor baby thought they were leaving. She thought they were going to leave her in Henry's care while they went off and did … well, who knew? How many times had she been left in the care of the older children? How many times had she been left on her own?

Snow crouched down next to the stool so that she was eye-level with her daughter. "We're not going anywhere, sweetheart, I promise. I just need to talk to David for a minute. We'll be right in that room over there, all right?"

Emma turned in the direction Snow had pointed, then looked back at her, her eyes searching Snow's for signs that she was lying. Oh, how Snow longed to just wrap her in a tight hug and tell her everything was going to be okay from now on.

Ultimately, Emma must have decided Snow could be trusted to keep her promise because she said, "Okay."

"Okay," Snow repeated, smiling at her daughter. "While David and I talk, you and Henry can finish breakfast and then think about what you want to do today."

There again was that little furrowed brow. "What do you mean, what I want to do today?"

"Well," she said, glancing up at Charming, who gave her an encouraging nod, "I thought that since it's your first day with us, we could all do something special together."

Now she was utterly confused. "Really? We really get to do something special just because I'm here?"

A heartbroken Snow glanced up at her husband, who looked just as heartbroken. Their baby was a _princess._ Their baby should have been celebrated; _every_ child should be celebrated. But little Emma hadn't been celebrated. No, instead, she'd been given to people who hadn't cared to know her and hadn't cared to learn just how wonderful she was. They'd treated her as a stepping stone, as a means to an end. It was so very wrong and so very _sad_.

"Of course we get to do something special because you're here," Snow said, blinking back tears as addressed her young daughter. "You're a very special little girl, Emma, and you're very special to us."

As was typical when she heard words of love and support that she wasn't ready to hear, little Emma began to withdraw, as if she wasn't sure she should allow herself to believe it. Snow had seen this exact same reaction in her daughter before; the only difference was that adult Emma had two decades on little Emma, so little Emma's walls weren't nearly as tall or as fortified. The girl's green eyes flicked to Charming, who gave her a loving nod.

Little Emma also hadn't perfected her emotional mask the way adult Emma had. Snow watched a flurry of emotions fly across the girl's face. Distrust, then confusion, then longing, and finally fondness. She smiled gratefully at Snow before turning back to her now surely soggy cereal.

Snow could not stop herself from running her hand down the back of her baby girl's head. Though Emma still tensed at her touch, she didn't duck out of her reach. "David and I will be right back, all right?" Snow asked, smiling inwardly at the progress.

"Okay," Emma agreed softly.

"We'll be good," Henry said with a sage nod. Then, mostly to make Emma smile, he winked at the little girl and held up crossed fingers. Bless the boy's heart, it worked; Emma muffled a giggle behind her hand.

_Oh_ boy. Snow didn't even want to imagine the kind of mischief the two of them would make if left to their own devices for very long. Still, Henry and Emma could make all the mischief they wanted if it meant she could continue to hear her daughter's sweet little giggle.

Her conscience twinged at the thought, reminding her of the reason she wanted to talk to David in the first place. As soon as she dragged him into the bedroom and Emma was no longer within her line of sight, that awful feeling in the pit of her stomach took center stage. "This is wrong, Charming," she murmured so the children couldn't overhear. "She didn't mean for this to happen. I can feel it in my bones that she didn't mean for this to happen. We can't keep her like this if she didn't really want it."

"I know," he admitted, "but what are we going to do? How are we going to tell that little girl in there, a little girl who's never had a wish come true in her young life, that she has to take back a wish she doesn't remember making? A wish that gave her us?"

They couldn't. Emma wouldn't believe them, for one thing, and for another, any attempt to convince her to wish herself back to an adult would completely destroy the tenuous trust they'd already formed with her. Snow refused to be one more disappointment in young Emma Swan's life. "Maybe we can take her to Gold," she suggested. "He'll be able to undo it."

"For what price, though?"

"Emma and Henry are already paying the price for the wish," Snow argued. "Emma's stuck as an eight-year-old, and Henry's mother is younger than he is. I'll pay whatever Gold asks of us if it means taking that burden off the two of them."

Charming sighed and took her hands into his own. "Let's just … give it a couple of days." Snow opened her mouth to argue, and he shook his head at her, silently telling her to let him finish. "Everything could go back to normal three days from now, Snow, and then you'd have paid a surely steep and extremely unnecessary price. Henry seems to be getting a kick out of his new little playmate, and Emma seems to be settling in nicely with us. I'm loving this chance to be with our little girl, and I know you are, too."

She swallowed hard because she was. She really, _really_ was.

"Maybe this is our opportunity to do some healing here, not only our own wounds but, more importantly, some of hers. So let's give it a couple of days. If she changes back on her own, then fine. If not, we'll go to Gold."

Snow was torn. She couldn't shake the feeling that leaving Emma as a child for any length of time when she hadn't meant to wish herself back into an eight-year-old was wrong. And yet, her husband made perfect sense. Maybe this _was_ an opportunity … an opportunity to give little Emma the love and attention she not only deserved but also clearly craved.

Before making her final decision, Snow peeked out into the kitchen. Henry and Emma had abandoned their breakfasts and were in the midst of some clearly made-up game that involved flicking a dry Froot Loop across the counter at each other. Henry was laughing, and her sweet little Emma had a smile on her face.

Her sweet little Emma was _having_ _fun_. No matter how Snow felt about the ethics of leaving Emma as a child, she couldn't deny that young Emma very much needed a good dose of fun and love and affection.

And so, despite her ethical misgivings, Snow turned back to Charming and nodded. "All right, we'll give it a couple of days."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** So, here's the thing: I've been stuck at home since Thursday with either the worst cold in the history of colds or the mildest flu in the history of flus. Regardless of what, exactly, it is, though, it's been_ miserable_. Writing's the only thing that's been keeping me sane (though, again, sane is relative, haha). I'm not a hundred percent happy with this but I've fiddled with it enough and I can't figure out how to make it better. I also can't quite tell if I'm not happy with it because it's not up to par or because I'm sick. I'm hoping it's the latter. ;)

* * *

Before Charming and Snow exited the bedroom, they took a moment to delight in watching the children play. Charming drank in the details; the smile on his little daughter's face, the love and tenderness in his grandson's eyes. Two lonely little children had come together and were having fun just being children. There was no doubt in his mind that eight-year-old Emma was just as good for Henry as Henry was for Emma.

The adults shared a smile and stepped back into the kitchen. The second Emma spotted them out of the corner of her eye, she gasped and swiped the Froot Loop from the counter. She stood up straight and turned toward the adults while hiding her hands behind her back, panic and fear swimming in her eyes.

The concern and confusion on Henry's face told Charming that he had no idea why Emma had reacted the way she had. Which was just as well, really; there were some things about his mother's past that Henry was simply too young to know. Charming, though, he knew … or at least, he could guess. His heart clenched in a combination of pain and anger as he glanced over at his wife. She looked just as upset and angry as he felt, but she nodded at him, silently telling him to handle this one.

Charming crouched down in front of his little daughter slowly so as not to frighten her and gave her a smile. "That looked like a fun game. Who was winning?"

The tension in the girl's shoulders relaxed as soon as she realized she wasn't going to get punished for playing with her food. She set the Froot Loop back down on the counter. "I was."

"She wasn't just winning," Henry spoke up with a chuckle. "She was kicking my butt!"

A rush of pink colored Emma's fair cheeks. She blushed even more furiously when Charming murmured, "That's my girl." Snow shot Charming a warning look, making him wince. He'd momentarily forgotten that Emma didn't know he was really her father.

Snow smiled at him to let him know she understood before addressing the children. "Have you two decided what you want to do today?"

Emma's eyes immediately shot to Henry. It seemed that she'd elected him spokesperson of their little two-person group.

On the one hand, Charming thought it was adorable that Emma seemed to trust Henry so quickly and so completely. On the other hand, it pained him greatly that Emma also seemed to be so afraid to speak her mind. Granted, her reticence could be stemming from the fact that she didn't really know them but Charming couldn't help but feel that the problem ran deeper than that. He couldn't help but feel that his young daughter's circumstances had taught her that speaking her mind either didn't end well or didn't matter.

The very idea made him furious. His baby's voice had been systematically silenced, by this world and the people who were supposed to take care of her. Those people hadn't seen her as a little girl with hopes and fears and dreams and desires. No, they'd seen her as a payday and nothing more. And it made him _furious_.

"Could we bake cookies?" Henry asked, his voice drawing Charming out of his reverie. Judging by the grateful smile on Emma's lips, baking cookies had been her idea.

A touched smile pulled at Snow's lips. She and Emma hadn't baked cookies with Henry since before the curse broke, and Charming had never had the pleasure of baking cookies with them at all. "I think that sounds like a marvelous idea. So now the only question is, what kind of cookies should we bake?"

Again, Emma darted her eyes to Henry. When he gave her an encouraging nod, she softly suggested, "Chocolate chip?"

Charming and Snow exchanged a loving and amused glance. Of course their chocolate-loving baby girl wanted chocolate chip cookies. "I vote for chocolate chip, too," Charming said, winking at his daughter. Emma graced him with a smile.

"Me, three!" Henry exclaimed, which made Emma giggle.

Oh, Charming would never get tired of hearing that lovely sound.

"I make it four, so it's unanimous," Snow said, smiling at the children. "Chocolate chip, it is. Henry, will you and David start getting the ingredients together? I'll take Emma upstairs so she can change, and then we should be all set to start baking."

Emma looked to Henry, who nodded at her as if telling her it was all right to go with Snow. She nodded back and when Snow held out her hand, Emma only hesitated a moment before slipping her hand into Snow's and allowing her to lead her up to the loft.

Charming stared after them as they disappeared up the stairs. Emma had only been out of his sight for three seconds, and he already missed her. Sighing heavily, he turned to his grandson, to whom he owed quite the explanation.

"What the heck happened?" Henry hissed as soon as Snow and Emma were out of earshot.

"We're not sure," Charming replied honestly. "We woke up this morning to find her like that. We think she accidentally made a wish."

Panic lit the boy's eyes. "Is she going to be like this for good now?"

"No," Charming assured him. "We don't know how long the wish is going to last but we're not going to let her be eight years old forever. Your grandmother and I are going to wait a couple of days to see if she turns back on her own. If she doesn't, we'll take her to Mr. Gold."

Henry didn't look like he liked the possibility of taking Emma to Gold any more than Charming had when Snow suggested it. "Maybe we could take her to my mom?"

Charming wasn't sure that going to Regina was any better but he gave Henry a comforting little smile anyway. "Maybe. The point is, we're going to get your mom back, Henry."

The boy glanced at the metal staircase leading to the loft bedroom before turning back to his grandfather. "She really doesn't remember a thing, does she?"

"No, she doesn't. She doesn't know who we really are, and you can't tell her."

"That you're Snow White and Prince Charming or that you're her parents?"

"Both." Charming crouched down in front of his grandson and grasped the boy's hands in his. "You know how hard it was to get her to believe in magic the first time around. In a way, we're right back where we started. I know you told her before, but this time, we _can't_ tell her. She's too young. She's … she's been hurt too much, disappointed too much."

The boy's eyes widened. "She won't believe us."

"No, she won't believe us," Charming said sadly. His daughter was only eight years old, and her faith had already been eroded to the point that she didn't believe in magic and fairy tales. "And if we push it, we'll risk destroying the little bit of trust we've already built up with her."

Henry nodded, swallowing hard. The poor boy looked so sad for his mother, so upset at the notion of an eight-year-old so hurt by those in her life. Charming gave him a little smile and said, "You're very good with her, you know."

"I am?" Henry asked, a little smile of his own pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Absolutely. You make her smile, Henry, and you make her laugh. She trusts you. She trusted you from the moment you sat down next to her."

"I'm having a lot of fun with her," he admitted. "She's so … cute."

"I agree, but don't let her hear you say that," Charming chuckled. Young Emma was indeed a little cutie pie, but adult Emma would likely have their heads for even thinking such a thing. "We're just trying to give her some good memories before she becomes an adult again. So, what do you say, kid? You think you're up for a couple of days of playing with your eight-year-old mom?"

Henry smiled at him. "You better believe it."

* * *

Showing little Emma the loft bedroom she'd been sharing with Henry was eerily reminiscent of the first time Snow had shown her this room, back when the curse was still in effect and she was still Mary Margaret Blanchard. Emma had even bounced on the mattress of the double bed to test it this time just as she'd done then, though adult Emma had performed the bounce test sitting down. Little Emma had bounced on the mattress on her knees.

"I'm sorry I have to put you in some of Henry's clothes for right now," Snow said as she dug through the boy's dresser for as gender-neutral a shirt as she could find. She'd already pulled out the smallest pair of jeans Henry had and handed them off to her little daughter. "We can go shopping for a few outfits after we bake the cookies."

She stopped short as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Did she really want to risk taking Emma into town? Her condition was easily explainable, of course, and everyone in town would understand but Emma didn't know about Storybrooke's … unique background. Did Snow really want to risk the little girl overhearing people talking about the curse or magic?

Perhaps it would be a better idea to enlist Red's help in bringing them some outfits to get them through the next couple of days.

"These are okay," Emma said.

Snow turned around to find she'd pulled on the jeans underneath her t-shirt-turned-nightshirt. They were a tad too big for her but they'd do for a little while. Smiling gently, she handed the girl a plain red sweatshirt and then turned away again, giving her a bit of privacy.

She busied herself with making Henry's daybed instead. Just as she finished up, a little voice said, "I'm ready."

Despite that fact that she looked as if she were dressed in her big brother's hand-me-downs and despite her hair sticking up from static electricity that must have come from pulling the sweatshirt on over her head, Emma looked very much like the little princess she truly was. "Is it cookie time now?" the girl asked, a tentative but mischievous smile on her lips.

"Hold your horses, wild child," Snow chuckled, sitting down on the bed and reaching for the hair brush Emma kept on her nightstand. "We've got to get some of those tangles out of your hair before it becomes one big giant knot."

Snow had assumed Emma would want to brush her own hair, so she was shocked when the girl glanced from the empty spot on the bed in front of Snow to the brush and then up at Snow's face almost hesitantly. "Do you want me to brush your hair for you?" she asked, touched.

Emma nodded, climbed up onto the bed, and sat cross-legged in front of a very surprised Snow. Her heart leaped with joy and wonder over little Emma trusting her enough to allow her this little bonding opportunity, an opportunity she should have had every day of Emma's life. Blinking back sudden tears, Snow very tentatively began running the brush through her baby's soft curls.

"You know, Emma," she said softly after a long moment, "I remember really enjoying when my mother brushed my hair when I was about your age. We'd sit and talk while she brushed out all my tangles. My hair was a lot like yours back then, and it was always a tangled mess in the morning. I always wanted to have a little girl so I could brush her hair the way my mother brushed mine."

"I like having my hair brushed, too," Emma said just as softly. "Not everyone does it for me, though. And I like the way you brush my hair. You don't pull."

Snow smiled while simultaneously swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. She continued brushing Emma's hair until her curls bounced and the blonde tresses shone. "All done, sweetheart."

Emma turned around to face Snow, her little eyes searching her mother's. "You're different," she said after a beat, serious but also pleasantly surprised.

"Different from what?" a perplexed Snow asked her.

"Different from the others. I can see it in your eyes. Besides, no one else ever called me sweetheart."

That was one more thing out of her baby's mouth that hit her right in the gut. Her poor sweet little girl.

To be completely honest, Snow hadn't even been consciously aware that she'd called Emma sweetheart. Adult Emma didn't exactly go for pet names but with little Emma, the endearment had just rolled right off her tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Do you like it? Being called sweetheart?"

Emma nodded shyly.

Snow smiled gently at her. Well, she'd have to continue to call her that, then. And as for being different, she assumed Emma could see the pure, unadulterated love in her eyes that the other adults in Emma's life had surely lacked. A big difference, to be sure, but not one Snow thought Emma would be comfortable with her calling out just yet. "All right, sweetheart, I think we'd better head downstairs, because guess what time it is."

"Cookie time?"

"It is indeed cookie time."

Emma rewarded her with a smile.

* * *

Making chocolate chip cookies was a bit difficult when Snow had three chocolate thieves in her midst. Every time she turned around to retrieve a measuring cup or a mixing bowl or an ingredient Henry and Charming hadn't been able to find, she heard the telltale crinkle of someone's hand reaching into the bag of chocolate chips. Then she would inevitably hear a mischievous giggle and a whispered shush.

This time, it was Emma's little giggle and Charming's amused shush. "You know, there aren't going to be enough chocolate chips left for the cookies if you three keep stealing them on me," she sighed, turning back to the counter in time to catch Emma drawing her hand out of the bag.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Charming said, winking at the children. Henry grinned while Emma muffled another giggle behind her hand.

"Uh huh, sure," Snow replied with a teasing roll of her eyes. "You all are going to be mighty disappointed when only half the cookies end up with chocolate chips."

"Still haven't the foggiest notion what you're talking about," Charming teased. He waited until Snow turned away to get the brown sugar from the cabinet – honestly, the boys might as well have not even bothered trying to gather ingredients – before sticking his hand into the bag. Out of the corner of her eye, Snow saw him snag a handful of chips and distribute them to the kids while putting a finger to his lips.

Snow shook her head. Honestly, her husband was behaving just as childishly as the actual children! The only reason she was allowing it was because he was making Emma laugh. (Although, truth be told, that was also probably the only reason he was doing it … to make Emma laugh.)

"Mary Margaret?" a little voice asked her.

She looked down at Emma in surprise. "Yes, Emma?"

"Can I crack one of the eggs when it's time?"

"Of course you can," Snow smiled, "and Henry can crack the other one."

Emma smiled back and resumed her current task of measuring and mixing the flour, salt, and baking soda.

For a while, everything was quiet except for the occasional gentle instruction from Snow and the occasional gentle admonishment to keep their hands out of the chocolate chips, for crying out loud. When it was time for the eggs to be added, Snow handed one egg to Henry and one to Emma. Henry went first, tapping his egg on the side of the bowl and carefully opening it along the crack.

Emma's little hands weren't quite as graceful; she dropped a couple pieces of shell in the bowl. "Oops," she muttered, panicked eyes shooting to Snow.

Snow smiled to set her little daughter at ease as she handed her a fork. "It's all right, sweetheart."

Emma smiled as well, blushing slightly at the nickname and sidling a little closer to Snow as she attempted to fish the egg shell out of the bowl. Her heart leaping for joy, Snow glanced up at Charming, who smiled lovingly at her. Their baby girl was responding to them. She was relaxing around them and, consciously or not, she was seeking them out for comfort and togetherness.

It was amazing and wonderful and heartwarming and doing everyone in the room a world of good.

A tiny little sigh brought Snow back to the present. "Uh oh. I think I lost it."

Snow looked down at her little daughter. "Lost what, the egg shell?"

The girl nodded sheepishly. Snow smiled at her as she slipped the fork from her hand. "No big deal, we'll find it."

"And if not, one of the cookies will just end up being a little crunchy," Charming added.

"Ew!" Henry cried, making Emma giggle.

"No, not ew," Charming insisted with a wink at Emma. "Mock if you must, but egg shells are a good source of calcium. Whoever ends up with that crunchy cookie should consider themselves lucky."

"Ew," Henry repeated, unmoved by his grandfather's argument.

While they playfully argued over the nutritional value of egg shell, Snow finally found the little sliver Emma had accidentally buried in the sugar. "Eureka!" she cried, teasingly holding it up on her finger as if it were found gold. "There will be no crunchy cookies now!" She winked at Emma, making both her and Henry giggle.

"Oh, well, we'll just have to have milk with the cookies to get our calcium," Charming sighed. Then he mischievously raised his eyebrows at the children. "You know what this calls for?"

"More chocolate chips?" Emma asked, half-cheekily and half-hopefully.

"Ding ding ding!" he replied, swiping a floury finger down her nose. "Emma, with the correct answer!" She giggled again, reaching a hand up to her nose to wipe off the flour that had transferred from his finger.

_Oh_, no. They'd had more than enough chocolate chips already. Snow reached for the bag to hide it but her husband snagged it before she could. Much to Snow's dismay and Henry's and Emma's delight, he withdrew a heaping handful of chips and dropped them into the children's waiting palms. "I'm surrounded by chocolate thieves," Snow sighed, shaking her head as both children nibbled on their treats. "What am I going to do with you three?"

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," Charming said, holding the bag out to her.

Snow looked from Henry's amused face to Emma's expectant one and then met her husband's eyes. He almost imperceptibly raised his eyebrows at her, begging her to play along with the joke because Emma was getting a kick out of it. Another glance at Emma's amused little face made up her mind for her. "All right, if you insist," she said as she snatched the bag from her husband's hand.

Emma grinned in delight when Snow popped a few chocolate chips into her mouth. "They taste the best right out of the bag," the little girl said sagely.

"That they do, sweetheart," Snow said softly, running her down the back of her daughter's head. This time, Emma didn't even tense up at her touch. Tears leaped into Snow's eyes. "That they do."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** I'm having far too much fun with this. :) Also, thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter (and really, all your lovely comments in general)!

* * *

When the time came to add the chocolate chips to the dough, Snow was the only one who was not at all surprised to find only a handful of chips left in the bag. Emma at least had the decency to look sheepish; Henry and Charming didn't even bother to hide their snickers. "Oops?" Henry said cheekily when he caught sight of the ten or fifteen chips dotting the mound of dough in the bowl.

Snow heaved a sigh and gave a playful shake of her head. "I tried to tell you ..."

Then, much to Emma's delight, she turned, opened the cabinet, and withdrew a second bag of chocolate chips. "Emma, please do the honors," she said, handing over the bag to her now thoroughly amused little daughter.

Emma performed her duty with gusto, carefully snipping the bag open with a pair of scissors and dumping the chips into the bowl. "Can I mix them in, too?" she asked.

"Of course," Snow replied, handing over the wooden spoon. Emma smiled as she took the spoon and got to work, her little tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she folded the chips into the dough.

Once the dough was ready, the only thing left for Snow to do was spoon it onto cookie sheets and put them in the oven … along with trying to keep two children already hyped up on chocolate chips from sneaking raw cookie dough every time they dropped their own spoonfuls onto the cookie sheets. Thankfully, Charming sat that part out, citing his intense desire not to come down with salmonella.

"I've never gotten sick from eating raw cookie dough," Henry argued, grinning at Emma.

"Yeah, me either," Emma added.

And that, apparently, was all the children needed, because Snow had to pretty much give up telling them to stop eating it.

After all the cookie sheets were filled and the dough was depleted, Henry dramatically wandered over to the couch and flopped down onto it, holding his hand over his stomach. "I honestly don't think I can eat another thing! Nothing. No cookies or cookie dough. Not even another chocolate chip!"

"You'll change your tune come lunchtime," Charming teased, making Emma giggle. Henry groaned at the mere thought of a meal.

While the cookies baked, Snow decided to get a jump on the dishes. She assumed that with Henry on the couch and Charming sitting with him, she'd be washing alone but after a moment, a little blonde head appeared next to her. "Emma? Is everything all right?"

The little girl nodded but she didn't say a word. Snow had no idea what her little daughter was thinking but she suspected that just like adult Emma, she would talk when she was ready to do so. Thinking quickly, she withdrew a dishrag from the drawer and handed it over to Emma, silently telling her she could help if she wanted.

She must have wanted, because she accepted the dishrag with a shy smile.

For a little while, they washed and dried in silence. Since Emma didn't know where anything went to put it away, she was just piling all the dried utensils and bowls in front of her. Then, finally, the little girl spoke. "Thank you for baking cookies with me, Mary Margaret."

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," Snow replied. "Did you have fun?" When Emma nodded in response, Snow smiled at her. "I'm glad."

Again, they were quiet. Snow watched her little daughter dry the measuring cups almost expertly. _Huh_, Snow thought with an amused smirk. Emma's young incarnation was certainly far more domestic than her adult incarnation. "Have you thought about what you want to do after we've cleaned up?" Snow asked her.

"I thought you said we could go shopping," Emma said, a little frown on her face as she stacked the measuring cups back in their proper order.

Oh, right, Snow had said that, hadn't she? She still didn't quite know how she felt about bringing Emma anywhere near the center of town. The last thing she needed was for Emma to overhear the Dwarfs talking about mining for fairy dust or something similar. Not to mention the fact that Emma would be returning to her adult self in a couple of days; would she really want everyone in town seeing her as an eight-year-old? And that was on top of not wanting to overwhelm the poor girl – and the questioning looks from everyone they ran across would certainly be overwhelming for her.

Snow didn't realize just how long she'd hesitated as she mentally debated her options until she saw Emma's little shoulders slump. The girl looked away from Snow and stared down at the counter instead, grabbing the whisk she'd already dried and running the dishrag over it again in an effort to mask her disappointment.

Panic leaped into Snow's heart. The last thing she'd wanted to do was make Emma think she was about to break a promise to her. "Hey," she said gently, crouching down next to the little girl. She touched Emma's shoulder and waited for her to turn and face her. When she did, Snow's heart clenched in her chest. The poor girl was fighting tears. "It's not like that, sweetheart, I promise. I was just wondering if going shopping would be too overwhelming for you on your first day, but if you want to go, we can go."

"Really?" Emma asked, sniffing back her tears.

"Really," Snow nodded.

Emma gave her a grateful little smile. "Can Henry and David come, too?"

"If they want to."

"I think they do."

At that, Snow chuckled. They most certainly did not want to go clothes shopping. It was hard enough to get Henry to go clothes shopping when he was the one getting the new clothes, and Charming? He didn't even like shopping for food, never mind clothes. And yet, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would indeed go if Emma asked. They would have absolutely no desire to, but they'd go. "Go ahead and ask them."

Smiling, the little girl set the dishrag on the counter and ran over to the living area, where Henry was still slouched on the sofa, complaining about having eaten too much cookie dough. "Do you guys want to come clothes shopping with me and Mary Margaret?" she asked them brightly.

The boys exchanged a vaguely pained look. No, they did not at all want to go. Still, they both told Emma that of course they'd love to go clothes shopping with her and Mary Margaret.

Snow had to bite her lip to hide her amused grin. Just as she'd expected.

Emma grinned at them and ran back to Snow. "Told you they want to come," she said as she picked up the dishrag and dried the mixing bowl.

"So you did," Snow replied, unable to stifle her amused chuckle.

"Come on, kid," Charming said, giving Henry's knee a light slap as he pushed himself off the sofa. "Apparently we're going clothes shopping soon."

"Lucky us," Henry sighed.

* * *

Snow's internal compromise to her taking-newly-little-Emma-shopping dilemma was to enlist Red's help on their way out the door. While Henry and Charming preoccupied Emma on the walk down the stairs and out to the truck, Snow called her best friend to explain their little predicament.

"I just need you to prepare Mrs. Shuster for the fact that the sheriff of Storybrooke is now eight years old and in need of a couple of outfits that fit her," she murmured into the phone. "The less I have to explain in front of Emma, the better. And not a single word of this to anyone else, Red."

"Of course I'll help you, Snow, but I do hope you realize that I now have to join you on this shopping trip," Red replied excitedly. "You can't just tell me that Emma reverted back into an eight-year-old overnight and not expect me to want to see how utterly adorable I'm sure she is."

Snow sighed into the phone but couldn't in good conscience deny her best friend her request. Red would have been Emma's godmother had the curse not happened; it went without saying that she should have the opportunity to spend time with an eight-year-old Emma. "Of course you can come," Snow relented.

"Great! I'll see you in a little bit, and Mrs. Shuster will be well prepared."

Snow disconnected the call with a little sigh, idly wondering what she'd just gotten herself into.

The little family met up with Red outside the Children's Alley, Mrs. Shuster's shop that carried clothing, shoes, books, and toys for the under-thirteen set. The second Emma climbed out of the truck and leaped down to the ground, Red was dumbstruck.

"Emma, this is Ruby," Snow said, making the quick introduction. "She's a friend of ours, and she wanted to come shopping with us, too."

"Hi," Emma said, shyly sidling a touch closer to Snow.

"Hi, Emma," Red replied, giving the little girl a friendly smile. Emma smiled back at her and slipped her hand into Charming's as the little group stepped up to the doors of the shop. Red leaned over to Snow and whispered, "She's _adorable_!"

"Thanks," Snow chuckled.

As soon as they were inside, little Emma drew to a stunned stop. "Whoa."

Snow followed her daughter's gaze and discovered her eyes had immediately landed on the stuffed animal section of the shop. Smiling, she reached down and took her baby's hand. "Come on, sweetheart. We have to get you some clothes first, and then you can pick out a toy afterward."

"Really?" Emma asked dreamily.

Charming and Snow shared yet another pained look. The promise of a singular stuffed animal of her own shouldn't have astounded their little daughter so much. "Of course," Snow said gently as she ushered Emma over to the girls' clothing section. Henry gestured that he was going to the book section, and Snow nodded at him to let him know that was all right before refocusing on Emma. "We're looking for a couple of outfits for you. You might have to try some things on, though, just so we know what size you are."

"I can pick anything I want?" Emma asked, her mouth hanging open in surprise as she stared at the clothing rack.

"Anything you want," Snow agreed.

Emma smiled and dug in.

Of course, Snow was under no delusion that she was going to be able to talk her little Emma into getting at least one cute little dress. Her instinct was proven correct when Emma headed straight for the jeans. Charming and Red acted as Emma's personal shoppers, holding various styles of jeans up against the little girl's legs and teasingly approving or vetoing them.

Emma was partly embarrassed by the attention and very amused by their antics.

Once they narrowed down her choices to two different styles, Snow grabbed a couple different sizes in each and draped them over her arm. Now it was time for Emma to pick out shirts.

True to form, she decided mostly on long-sleeve t-shirts and sweatshirts. Red found her a blue sweatshirt with little white polka dots, but it was the pale yellow long-sleeve t-shirt with the singular pink rose on the front of it that Emma proclaimed her most favorite shirt ever.

After deciding on the clothes, it was a whirlwind of trying things on, a task Emma did not like in the slightest. She didn't outright complain but Snow could tell that her patience was wearing thin the third time Snow had to send Red for jeans in a different size.

As a reward for being patient, Snow let Emma pick out a pair of pajamas as well. She really could have dressed the girl in adult Emma's t-shirts again but part of her wanted to spoil her baby and part of her wanted to see what her daughter would choose. She ended up deciding on a pair of lavender PJ pants with little yellow ducks on them and a shirt to match. "I like the ducks," she said sheepishly as she handed the pajamas to Snow.

Snow smiled at the little girl as she hefted Emma's new clothes into her arms. Charming offered to take something for her, and she unloaded half their daughter's haul. "All right, sweetheart, there's only one more thing we have to do here."

"Does that mean it's toy time now?" Emma asked excitedly.

"Yes, it's toy time," Snow chuckled.

Emma beamed and took off towards Henry in a run. "Henry! Mary Margaret said I can get a toy now! Can you help me pick out a stuffed animal?"

Henry grinned at Emma as he stood. When he went to put the book he'd been paging through away, Snow shook her head at him and gestured for him to bring it to her. The boy had been doing marvelously with Emma and had taken absolutely everything about this insane day in stride; the very least Snow could do was get him a book as a reward.

Smiling a thank you, he dropped the book off with Snow and then turned to Emma. "Do you know what kind of stuffed animal you want?"

"A cat," she said, nodding.

"Okay, let's see if we can find a cat."

Emma smiled as she grasped Henry's hand and tugged him towards the stuffed animals. The second the children were out of earshot, an excited Red whirled around to Snow. "She's delightful! You've _got_ to bring her to Granny's."

Snow heaved a sigh. She was afraid this would happen. "Red, Emma's not going to exactly appreciate everyone in town gawking at her because she suddenly regressed into single digits. I have to live with her when she comes back, remember."

As was typical, her friend was unmoved by her argument. "So bring her in the back way. No one else will be able to see her, but Granny _has_ to. She'll have my head if she ever finds out I hung out with you and teeny tiny Emma and didn't get you to bring her by."

Snow looked to Charming, who gave her a little nod of agreement. Granny would indeed very much appreciate seeing Emma, and really, with everything Granny had done to help them prepare for Emma's arrival in the Enchanted Forest, Snow and Charming owed her. "All right," Snow nodded, "we'll bring her in the back way for a hot chocolate to go or something."

Red grinned. "Perfect! I'll let Granny know to expect you. She'll meet you out back."

They'd firmed up plans not a moment too soon. The children returned then, Henry smiling happily and Emma hugging a gray plush cat. "You found a cat," Charming said a bit unnecessarily, grinning at his little daughter.

"Uh huh, Henry found her for me. I can really have her?"

"You can really have her," Charming confirmed.

Emma's eyes darted to Snow, looking for confirmation from her as well. And when Snow nodded, she and Charming both quickly decided that the surprised and grateful smile that lit Emma's face was worth every penny of the hit to their joint bank account this little shopping trip would end up costing them. _Every penny_, Snow thought, smiling lovingly at her little daughter, _and then some_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to say thank you again for all your lovely comments. Best readers ever, I tell you. :)

* * *

The little plush cat very quickly became Emma's new favorite thing. Before they'd even approached the register to pay for it, her clothes, and Henry's book, she'd named it Gracie. "Because she's a gray cat, get it?" Emma had explained, giggling.

After she rang it up, a thoroughly amused Mrs. Shuster had glanced at Snow for permission. Snow had nodded, and Mrs. Shuster had handed the little girl her cat back. "Thanks," Emma had said, beaming as she hugged the stuffed cat to her chest.

Gracie now sat in Emma's lap as Charming turned the key in the ignition of the truck. Much to his and Henry's relief, the shopping trip was officially over.

"I like Ruby, Mary Margaret," Emma said as Charming maneuvered the truck into the flow of traffic. "She's funny."

"She likes you, too," Snow informed her little girl, smiling gently at her. Emma gave her a shy smile back as she ran her hand over Gracie's soft fur. "We just have to make one quick stop before we head home, all right?"

Emma nodded. Henry shot a confused glance at his grandmother. Snow winked at him, and as soon as Charming pointed the truck in the direction of Granny's, the boy's eyes lit up in understanding.

A quick glance through the windows of the diner when they arrived proved that it was too busy inside for Snow to comfortably bring Emma through the front. It was coming up on lunchtime, so Granny's had its hands full with the people who'd come in for a late breakfast and those who had come in for an early lunch.

The plan, as Snow and Charming had worked out, was for the boys to go into the diner and get four cups of tomato soup while Snow took Emma around back to meet up with Granny. Snow had decided on a whim to make grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, but they didn't have any tomato soup in the apartment.

True to Red's word, Granny was indeed waiting for them out back with a Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate in her hand when they arrived. Emma had refused to leave Gracie in the truck and hugged the plush cat a little tighter upon spying a new face.

Granny's eyes were as wide with wonder upon seeing eight-year-old Emma as her granddaughter's had been but she covered quickly. Before Snow even had a chance to open her mouth to make the introduction, the older woman crouched down in front of the little girl. "You must be Emma. I'm Ruby's grandmother, but you can call me Granny. _Everyone_ calls me Granny."

"Hi, Granny," Emma said shyly.

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest little thing," Granny said, making Emma blush. "And who's your little friend?"

"Gracie," Emma replied, holding up the cat for Granny to see. "Mary Margaret just bought her for me."

"She's just as sweet as you are," Granny smiled as Emma slipped her free hand into Snow's. She glanced up at Snow, meeting her loving gaze over little Emma's head. Then she refocused her attention on Emma. "I bet you like hot chocolate, don't you?" At the girl's nod, she continued. "It just so happens that I have a cup of hot chocolate here that I'm not going to drink. Would you like to have it?"

Emma looked to Snow to make sure it was all right with her if she accepted the hot chocolate. When Snow nodded at her, Emma turned back to Granny with a wide smile on her face. "Yes, please."

Smiling gently, the older woman handed the Styrofoam cup over to the little girl. Emma tucked Gracie under her arm between her elbow and torso as she accepted the hot drink. "Can I get anything for you, Mary Margaret?"

"No, thank you," Snow said, a grateful smile on her lips. The older woman clearly adored seeing little Emma, and she'd been doing a wonderful job making Emma feel at ease with her.

At Emma's first tentative sip of the warm cocoa, her little brow wrinkled in a perplexed frown. "What did you put in this? I like it!"

Granny leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in the little girl's ear. "A sprinkle of cinnamon sugar and some whipped cream. But it's a secret recipe, so don't tell anyone else, all right?"

"I promise," Emma whispered back, nodding solemnly. When the older woman stood up straight, Emma took another sip and proclaimed the drink the best hot chocolate ever.

"I'm glad you like it," Granny said, sharing an amused chuckle with Snow. "I've got to get back to work now, but will you come see me again soon?"

Emma nodded happily, cup of cocoa in one hand and Gracie in the other.

The women waited until Emma was preoccupied with her cocoa before taking a moment to talk by themselves. "Thank you for bringing her by," Granny whispered. "She's absolutely precious. Red told me that you're not sure how long she's going to be her mini-self, but … well, don't forget that it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchild. I figure that goes doubly so for a great-grandchild, blood or no."

A touched smile lit Snow's face. "Thank you."

"Enjoy the time you have with her," she nodded, grasping Snow's hand comfortingly. "You all deserve it."

"We will," Snow assured her. A little tug at her sleeve interrupted them, and Snow automatically reached her hand down to take Emma's. It hit her a moment later how … natural the action had felt. Just a mother taking her daughter's little hand, without a second thought. "All right, sweetheart," she said softly, trying not to sound choked up, "are you ready to go home now?"

"Uh huh." The poor girl suddenly sounded tired. Maybe the shopping trip had overwhelmed her after all. When Snow placed her hand on the small of Emma's back to usher her to the truck, she said, "Bye, Granny. Thanks for the hot chocolate."

"You're very welcome, darling," Granny replied. "You come back for some more hot chocolate any time you like."

"I will," Emma grinned, as if she had any say in the matter.

They bid Granny a final goodbye and headed back towards the truck. "I like her, too," Emma said after a long moment and another sip of cocoa. "I like it here."

"I'm very glad you like it here, sweetheart."

There was a brief pause in conversation, and all of a sudden, Snow could practically feel Emma withdrawing again. She didn't have the slightest clue what had prompted the change in her baby's demeanor. A quick glance at the truck proved that Charming and Henry were still inside, so Snow felt comfortable tugging Emma to a stop and crouching down in front of her. "Is everything okay?"

Emma nodded while at the same time tightening her arm around Gracie.

No, everything wasn't okay, but for the life of her, Snow couldn't figure out what the problem was. They hadn't been talking about anything upsetting. Emma _was_ getting antsy but this didn't seem like a simple case of a tired little girl itching to be home.

After a moment of thought, Snow gently said, "You don't have to be afraid, Emma. You can tell me anything." When Emma still looked uncertain, Snow smiled comfortingly. "You can ask me anything, too."

Again, Emma searched Snow's eyes. Snow could tell that she was searching for certainty, searching for signs that it was indeed all right to let this woman in. Finally, in a small voice, she asked, "Do you like having me here?"

All at once, Snow's heart both leaped for joy and clenched in her chest. Her sweet little baby had finally found somewhere she wanted to belong but she was also petrified that the others in her life didn't feel the same way. Oh God, how she longed to pull Emma into a crushing hug and just hold her until all her pain went away. But she couldn't, not yet. Despite Emma's growing comfort with little touches, it was still too soon for that kind of contact.

"Emma, I adore having you with us," Snow said instead, looking directly into her baby girl's bright green eyes. "You are such a sweet and special little girl, and I am so glad you came into our lives. I know for a fact that David and Henry feel the same way."

The little girl searched Snow's eyes again, which made Snow's heart ache. How many broken promises had Emma already endured in her eight short years of life? How many other people had lied to her, had told her what she wanted to hear without meaning any of it?

Emma must have found what she was searching for because after a long beat, a tiny smile pulled at her lips. "You really are different, aren't you?"

Relief flooded Snow's heart. "Yes, sweetheart, I am," she assured her baby girl, reaching up to caress Emma's little cheek. "We all are."

The girl's smile grew wider as the tension in her shoulders relaxed a bit and she loosened her grip on Gracie. "I like different."

* * *

Judging from Emma's request for Froot Loops for breakfast, Snow figured that suggesting grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch would go over like gangbusters. She had indeed assumed correctly. Little Emma was thrilled with the idea of grilled cheese and tomato soup and had in fact proclaimed it "the best and most perfect lunch ever."

Snow didn't have to ask whether Emma wanted double cheese in her sandwich – adult Emma had always answered that question with, "Do bears shit in the woods?" – but she did anyway and was rewarded the most beautiful little smile from her most beautiful little daughter.

She set the children up at the kitchen table with some blank sheets of paper and Mary Margaret's plastic tote of art supplies to keep them occupied while she and Charming got lunch together. Since the only pieces of artwork Henry had ever seen from Emma were the little doodles in the corners and margins of her phone message book at the sheriff's station, he was more than interested in seeing what she would draw.

Gracie sat on the table next to Emma's papers, looking on as the girl drew. Though Henry did have to admit that it was ridiculously cute how much she seemed to love that little cat, he also had every intention of teasing her mercilessly about it when she became herself again.

For a few minutes, Henry focused on his own drawing. For reasons entirely unclear to him, he'd decided to draw a barn. A barn with some blueberry bushes next to it and a strawberry patch off to the side. It wasn't until he reached over to grab a brown crayon for the split rail fence he'd decided to draw on the other side of the barn that he looked over at Emma's paper. To his utter amazement, the little girl was in the midst of drawing a castle.

"I like your castle," he said to her, a smile on his lips.

"Thanks." She set the gray crayon down and reached for a red one for the triangular flags sticking up out of her towers. "I like drawing castles."

"Do you like princess stories?" Henry asked. Maybe letting her know that Snow White and Prince Charming were actually in the room with them wouldn't be as hard as his grandfather thought!

"No." She shrugged. "I just like castles."

Then again, maybe it would. Henry nodded and turned back to his own drawing. He'd expected that to end the conversation; it would have with adult Emma. So he was completely surprise when she continued softly. "When I was little, I used to think that my mom and dad were a queen and a king and that they gave me away to hide me from a bad king and queen who wanted to hurt me, but now I know that's not true."

Henry glanced up at his grandparents, amazed. They looked just as surprised as he felt. She had no idea how right she'd been! Not a hundred percent correct, of course, but more correct than she could have ever imagined. "How do you know that's not true?" he asked gently.

"Because I'm not a princess," she said. The "duh" was implied.

Henry again glanced up at his grandparents. Charming gave him a gentle but warning look, a reminder not to push little Emma on the fairy tale stuff. Henry nodded and once again went back to his drawing.

"Henry?" Emma asked after a moment. "Do you know where your mom and dad are or are you like me?"

He saw his grandparents exchange a pained look. He couldn't even imagine how hard it must have been for them to hear Emma say things like that and not be able to tell her that they were her real parents. He smiled comfortingly at them before addressing Emma. "My dad died a long time ago and my mom's … away. David and Mary Margaret are taking care of me until she comes back."

"Do you know when she's coming back?"

"No," he said sadly. Not for the first time since waking up this morning, he missed adult Emma. He missed her hugs and the way she teased him and her snarky attitude. Little Emma was fun, but he missed his mom.

Emma gave him a tiny, comforting smile as she reached for the brown crayon for her drawbridge. "Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"Even though it stinks that your mom's away, I'm glad you're here with me."

Well, now, how could he be upset that his adult mom wasn't here when his little mom said cute things like that? "I'm glad you're here with me, too, Emma."

She grinned at him and finally focused all of her attention on her drawing. Henry watched her for a minute, conflicting emotions running through his head. He missed his mom like crazy but if he looked hard enough, he could still find her there in little Emma. He was having so much fun with Emma, and it was pretty great to see her smiling and laughing. But man oh man did he miss his mom.

Then Emma shifted Gracie's position on the table so that the plush cat could get a better view of the drawing. Henry smirked. Oh yeah, when she became an adult again, he was never going to let her live this down.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** A nor'easter on a Saturday means you all get an update on Sunday! Because I was stuck at home with nothing else to do, haha. Have some daddy/little daughter time. :)

* * *

After sandwiches were eaten, soup was consumed, and the dishes were dried and put away, a suddenly subdued Henry asked if he could go lie down upstairs for a little while. Charming and Snow exchanged a concerned glance but neither of them saw any harm in letting the boy be by himself for a bit. "Of course you can," Snow replied.

He gave her a wan but grateful smile and started up the stairs. Snow watched him go and then looked to Charming again, silently asking whether one of them should follow. He nodded and she nodded back, indicating that she'd go.

Most of the time, the two of them carrying on entire conversations with no words and in the blink of an eye like that was so natural that he didn't even notice it. Today, though, was one of the times that it amazed him. He was so awed and so beyond grateful that he'd found someone who knew him so completely that they didn't need words to communicate. No, they only needed looks and glances.

"Is Henry okay?" Emma asked, her concerned little voice drawing Charming from his reverie. She had trained her worried gaze on the metal staircase leading up to the loft as if trying to stare after Henry and Snow. Charming noted with a pang of concern for his baby that she was holding Gracie tighter now than when Henry had left the room.

"He's fine, kiddo," Charming assured her. "He's just not feeling very well right now."

"Is it 'cause of the cookie dough?"

Despite Charming's concern for his grandson, his daughter's innocent little question caused an amused smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. "No, I don't think it's because of the cookie dough. Your tummy's not upset, is it?" When she shook her head no, he smiled at her. "Well, there you go. If he was sick from the cookie dough, you'd be sick, too."

She did not appear convinced, nor had she loosened her grip on Gracie. She turned her head, staring back over at the metal staircase with such a mature expression of worry that it seemed incongruous on her little face.

Though Charming was not at all sure what was going on inside her little head, he crouched down in front of her and gave her a comforting smile. "Hey, he's going to be just fine. He's just a little tired, okay?"

Emma looked deep into his eyes. Snow had mentioned that Emma had done the same with her more than a few times already. The very fact that his eight-year-old had been disappointed and lied to so many times that she couldn't take what people said to her at face value made his chest ache. So he held her gaze, determined to prove to her that he could be trusted.

It must have worked because after a beat, she loosened her hold on Gracie and said, "Okay."

A warm feeling filled his chest just like it had when she'd slipped her hand into his before he prepared her breakfast. His sweet little girl trusted him, at least a little bit. As he looked her over, though, he could tell that his sweet little girl was also getting tired. And no wonder! It had been a whirlwind of a day, emotionally _and_ physically, and it wasn't even one in the afternoon yet.

He wanted to do something with her – and for her – but he wasn't sure what. Something quiet and something relaxing, something the two of them could share. He wracked his brain but then little Emma herself swooped in to save the day. "David?"

"Yes, Emma?"

Her grip on Gracie tightened again as an uncertain expression came over her face. "Will you … will you read me a story?"

The broken pieces of Charming's heart warmed and melded themselves back together. His baby girl wanted him to _read to her_.

Even adult Emma couldn't possibly know that Charming had read to her every single night when Snow was pregnant with her. He'd planned to monopolize his little baby's bedtime routine with stories and books, but those plans were shattered the day the Blue Fairy told them the wardrobe could only protect one.

With the coming of the curse, he wouldn't get to read to his daughter at all. So he'd done the next best thing and read to her while she was still developing, as much as he could whenever he could.

He thought he'd made peace with it long ago. He thought he'd been okay with giving up his dream of reading to his daughter but Emma's request had made him realize how wrong he was. He so desperately wanted to read his daughter a story, and now he was finally going to get the chance.

The only problem was, aside from Henry's storybook, they didn't have any books appropriate for little kids in the apartment. Henry liked his comics, of course, but he was also transitioning from middle grade books to young adult novels. Charming couldn't think of a single book Henry owned that would be appropriate for story time with a gunshy eight-year-old.

Just as he started to panic, he remembered: they _did_ have one little-kid book in the apartment! "I would love to read you a story, pumpkin," he said to her, grinning. When she wrinkled her nose at the pet name, an amused Charming had a sudden flash of adult Emma reacting the same way to pretty much any pet name. "You don't like pumpkin?"

She shook her head. "I like when you call me kiddo, though."

He smiled at her. "Okay, kiddo, go make yourself comfortable on the couch. I'm just going to get the book and I'll be over in a second."

Emma didn't move. She darted her gaze to the couch and then back to Charming, her eyes uncertain.

At first, Charming didn't understand what the issue was. It was only after thinking it over that he understood, his heart both sinking and warming in his chest: she was so used to being alone that she didn't want to give up the togetherness now that she had it, even if it would only be for a few seconds.

His heart ached for the little girl who'd been so neglected that she panicked at the thought of being left alone for such a short amount of time, and yet, the very fact that his little girl wanted to stay with him thrilled him more than he could have ever imagined. The conflicting emotions were of course very bizarre and very confusing, but his emotional well-being didn't matter right now. Emma's did. He gave her a kind smile. "Of course, you don't have to sit on the couch just yet if you don't want. You can come with me."

She smiled back and sidled up to him.

Charming led his daughter over to the little bookcase against the brick wall and pulled Emma's _Madeline_ anthology off the shelf. The book had belonged to one of her group homes but a six-year-old Emma had quickly fallen in love with it. The director of the place had let her take it when she left the group home, and she'd held onto it ever since.

She'd been keeping it in her dresser drawer, but Snow had told her they should display it somewhere. Emma had then given it to her to display wherever she saw fit, and the bookcase in the living area had become its new permanent home.

"How's this?" he asked his little daughter, holding the book up to her so she could see.

She grinned at him. Apparently, she approved.

With the book in hand, Charming led her to the couch. She eased down on the middle cushion while he settled in the corner, giving her space while still sitting next to her. He'd figured that was where she'd stay, so it took him by complete surprise when she shifted closer to him, tucking herself against his side so she could see the pictures in the book.

His heart leaped for joy and then began to throb in his chest. His little baby was _cuddling_ with him! He couldn't believe it, and he was absolutely terrified of screwing it up, of doing something that would make her nervous and put an end to the cuddling. Slowly and tentatively, he reached his arm around her shoulders, holding the book with each hand, half on his lap and half on hers. She tensed for the space of a heartbeat when his arm wrapped around her little body and then snuggled closer, making herself comfortable with Gracie on her lap so she could see the pictures, too.

Oh, how Charming wished this moment would never end. How he managed to hold the book steady with his hands trembling the way they were and how he managed to start reading without sounding choked up, he would never know. "'In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines–'"

"'Lived twelve little girls in two straight lines,'" Emma recited, smiling.

Charming grinned down at his little daughter and continued reading. Emma broke in with the occasional line when she remembered it but she soon began to grow quiet. A quick glance down proved that he was indeed losing her to a nap; her long lashes were fluttering as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

He continued to read but spoke more softly, allowing his voice to soothe and comfort her. He didn't stop when she finally gave in and let her eyes close, nor did he stop when he felt her little muscles twitch and relax as she drifted off to sleep.

No, he only stopped when his wife returned downstairs, her worried frown giving way to a touched smile when she spotted their eight-year-old daughter sound asleep against her father and loosely holding a plush gray cat in her lap. He closed the book but Snow shook her head at him and urgently whispered, "Don't move."

He didn't move another muscle. She tiptoed into their bedroom and emerged a few seconds later with a digital camera of Emma's that she never used anymore because she just used her phone. "Open the book back up," Snow whispered as she framed a shot of her husband and their sweet little daughter.

"She's going to have your head for this when she turns back, you know," he whispered to his wife.

"I don't care. I'm not letting this little Kodak moment pass us by. Besides, she'll never have to see it unless she wants to."

Charming smiled at his wife and opened the book, allowing Snow to take the somewhat posed candid. Then, picture taken, Snow eased into the armchair. "How's Henry?" he asked her.

"He's napping, too," Snow said, giving a little concerned sigh. Then she met her husband's gaze. "He misses his mom, Charming, his adult mom, and to be perfectly honest, so do I."

"I do, too," Charming admitted softly. He missed his daughter so much. He had his little daughter but he didn't have his adult daughter, and he missed her.

"I adore having her here," Snow continued, nodding towards the little girl. "She's everything I could have ever imagined she would be and then some. She's precious, and I am beyond grateful that we have this opportunity to get to know her and love her and help her feel loved ..."

"But she's not our Emma," Charming finished for her with an understanding nod. "I feel the exact same way, Snow, but our Emma _is_ coming back. This is only for a couple of days."

"Right, and then when we get our Emma back, we lose her." Tears began to brim in Snow's eyes. "I guess I didn't expect it to be this hard. We have her but we don't, if that makes any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," he said, because it did. They couldn't keep little Emma, not without giving up adult Emma, and getting adult Emma back meant losing little Emma.

Emma stirred, and without a clue where the instinct was coming from, Charming ran his thumb along her cheek to soothe her back into sleep. She shifted slightly so that she was leaning more comfortably against him and then calmed.

"All magic comes with a price, Snow," he murmured as soon as he was sure Emma was once again completely asleep. "This is the price of her wish. We can have one or the other, but not both. But while magic may come with a price, it's also given us this tremendous gift. _She's_ a gift, however we can have her, and she's a gift we should cherish. We should treasure this time we have with her now and look forward to the time we'll have with her when she comes back. I'm not saying it's easy, because it most certainly is not, but it's much more than we could have."

Snow's tears had spilled over the second Charming had called Emma a gift. She sniffled, blinking back the rest of her tears. "You know," she said with a self-deprecating chuckle to take the focus off her emotion, "you are far too eloquent for your own good."

He smiled comfortingly at her. "I take after my wife in that regard."

She smiled back, then focused her attention on her little daughter. "We should lie her down." She pushed herself up from the chair, stepped over to the couch, and, after taking a moment to consider the fact that Charming's face had fallen slightly at the thought of her shifting Emma away from him, handed her husband a throw pillow.

Smiling, he set the pillow on his legs and watched as Snow gently moved Emma so that the little girl was lying with her head on her father's lap. Her little arm wrapped around Gracie, hugging the cat to her chest as she settled on her side. Then Snow grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over her baby girl. "Have a nice nap, sweetheart," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Emma's cheek.

Emma smiled in her sleep in response to Snow's touch, making tears leap into both her parents' eyes. _I would pay any magical price for moments like this one_, Charming thought as he gently traced soft circles across his sleeping daughter's forehead. _Any price at all._


	11. Chapter 11

For a very quiet forty-five minutes, Snow and Charming did nothing but sit with their sleeping baby girl. They both had things they could have – and probably should have – been doing. There was laundry to fold, a slow drain in the bathtub to investigate, and an entire apartment that could have used a dusting, but none of those household chores seemed at all important. Not when they had a teeny tiny Emma to watch over.

It took every ounce of willpower Snow had to resist the urge to snap dozens of pictures of Emma sleeping on her father's lap. Adult Emma, to put it mildly, was not going to be thrilled with the single picture she'd already taken. Any more than that would surely mortify her. Snow refused to put the camera away, though. She was hoping that she'd be able to take some more pictures of the whole family later on, provided that little Emma wasn't as camera-shy as her adult counterpart.

Plus, she had no doubt in her mind that adult Emma would in fact want a picture of her little self surrounded by her real family … after the embarrassment of the whole accidentally wishing herself back into an eight-year-old thing wore off, of course.

Eventually, Emma began to stir, her face scrunching against what Snow could only assume was a nightmare. Charming tried to no avail to calm her with a soft thumb against her cheek and soothing murmurs in her ear. When the girl started whimpering, Charming shot a pained glance at his wife. She nodded at him, silently telling him to wake her.

"Emma," he said, trying to regulate his voice to that sweet spot between loud enough to cut through her nightmare but not so loud that he frightened her. He ran a gentle hand up and down her arm, hoping that the added physical contact would help bring her out of the nightmare. "Wake up, Emma."

The girl gasped, her eyes snapping open and her arm instinctively wrapping around Gracie. She sat up and scrambled to the other end of the sofa, panic clouding her features and her breath coming out in short, rapid pants.

Before Snow could move a single muscle, Charming took over. And good thing he did, because Snow's first instinct was to wrap the frightened girl in a hug, which probably would have only panicked her further. "Hey, it's all right," he murmured as he shifted the pillow off his lap and turned towards his little daughter, his voice calm and comforting. "Look at me, kiddo. Look at me."

Her eyes shifted and locked onto her father's. "That's it," Charming continued soothingly as he shifted closer to Emma, ready for a touch if she needed one. "It was just a dream, kiddo. You're all right now. You're safe here with us."

Slowly, Emma began to calm down. "It's all right, sweetheart," Snow murmured as she stood up from the chair and crouched down in front of the sofa. "Slow breaths." When the tension in Emma's little body relaxed completely, Snow smiled at her. "Are you okay now?"

The little girl gave a swift nod. "Do you want to talk about it?" Charming gently asked. To that, she shook her head.

Of course she didn't want to talk about it. Snow realized with a pang of despair that she'd probably never talked about a nightmare in her young life, not with anyone who was at all interested in helping her get over them.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," Emma murmured uncomfortably after a beat.

"It's perfectly all right, kiddo," Charming replied, giving her a gentle smile. "You've had kind of a big day today, huh?"

She nodded again, a little more relaxed this time. Her eyes traveled around the room and after a moment the corners of her mouth turned down in a concerned frown. "Where's Henry? Is he okay?"

"Henry's taking a little nap of his own upstairs," Snow replied gently. "I'm sure he'll feel much better when he wakes up."

Another nod, this one slightly uncertain. Snow and Charming exchanged a concerned glance over their little girl's head. "The three of us can do something while we're waiting for him to wake up, though," Charming offered in an effort to put a smile on his daughter's face. "Anything you want."

Emma's eyes darted to Snow, who nodded at her in confirmation. "Could we maybe play a game?" the girl asked somewhat shyly.

A gentle smile pulled at Snow's mouth. Her baby wanted to play a game! "Of course we can play a game, sweetheart. Do you know what game you want to play?"

She thought for a moment. "Do you guys know how to play the dot game?"

Charming and Snow exchanged an amused glance. Adult Emma had pretty much boycotted the dot game with Charming after he'd gotten twice the number of boxes as she did during one game. "Hmm, what do you think, Mary Margaret?" Charming said, winking at his little girl before turning to his wife with an obviously fake perplexed frown on his face. His teasing tone and silly facial expression accomplished their purpose; Emma giggled softly. "Do we know how to play the dot game?"

"Hmm, I don't know," Snow answered, playing along with her husband. "We might. But just in case, could you teach us, Emma?"

Finally, a smile lit Emma's face. She nodded, pushed herself off the couch, and ran towards the plastic tote of art supplies. After tucking Gracie under her arm, she withdrew a blank sheet of construction paper – yellow, Snow noted with an amused smile – and a package of markers. She carried everything over to the kitchen table and plopped down in one of the chairs.

Her parents followed her, hiding their smiles when she set Gracie down on the table in a position to look on as she conducted her little dot game lesson. "Okay, so this is what we do. We make a square like this." She drew a square four dots across and four dots down with the red marker, then glanced up at her parents to make sure they were paying attention. Once she was convinced she had two rapt pupils, she demonstrated the game rules as she described them. "Then each person draws a line between two dots. You're supposed to connect the lines to make boxes. If you make a box, you put your initial in it and then make another line. Whoever has the most boxes at the end wins!"

Lesson concluded, Emma looked up at her parents again. "You guys got that?"

Again, Snow and Charming had to bite their lower lips to hide their amused grins. "Sounds easy enough," Snow said, pulling the purple marker from the package.

"I think I got it, too," Charming nodded as he grabbed the brown marker. "But if all three of us are going to play, I think we need a big square. I'm talking _nine dots_ big. What do you think, Emma?"

She nodded, grinning excitedly at him.

Snow and Charming took seats at the kitchen table with their daughter. Charming flipped the sheet of construction paper over and drew out the playing field, nine dots high and nine dots wide. Then, just before he slid the paper to a spot on the table within all their reach, he drew a little smiley face next to the square, making Emma giggle. "All right, Miss Emma," he said, grinning at his daughter. "Start us off."

For a little while, the only sounds in the room were the faint scratches of the markers against the paper as they connected dots. Snow watched her little daughter concentrate at each one of her turns in an effort to determine the best place to put her line. A glance up at Charming proved that he was watching her, too, clearly fascinated with the simple act of watching his daughter think.

Observing children at play was something Snow had loved, even back when she was teaching Mary Margaret Blanchard's fourth-grade class. There was something amazing and wonderful about watching young minds figure out how the world around them worked. Observing Emma as she learned how to strategize, as she thought about not only where to place her line to make a box but also how to plan her lines so her parents couldn't make a box was something that neither Snow – nor Charming, judging by the sheer wonder on his face – would ever forget.

In the end, it was indeed Emma who made the first box. "Yes!" she cried, raising her little arms over her head in victory. "I got one!"

"Great job, sweetheart," Snow said, smiling warmly. Emma grinned at her, marked her box with a precise little E, and drew her second line.

Again, they played in silence. It was only as Charming was writing a D in his fifth box that Emma said softly, "They were taking me away from you. In my bad dream, I mean. They were taking me away from you and I was crying."

Charming and Snow exchanged a pained glance, no doubt in their minds that the nameless "they" was a social worker of Emma's who'd taken her away from families before. Snow could see surprise in her husband's eyes as well – surprise that Emma had revealed the details of her nightmare after saying she didn't want to talk about it – but Snow wasn't really all that thrown by it.

Adult Emma had the same MO. She only talked about something when she was ready to talk and when she was ready, she talked, without any kind of segue or lead-in. The shared moment between mother and daughter in the ruined nursery in the Enchanted Forest was a prime example. It was almost as if she held everything in until she could get a handle on it, and then it just came spilling out.

Snow stood up from her chair, knelt down next to Emma, and turned the girl's chair so that she was looking her little daughter in the eye. She grasped her baby's hands and held them tightly. "Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me. _No one_ is going to take you from us. You're not going anywhere, not anymore and not unless you want to. You're ours now, Emma. We're not going to let you go, and we're not going to give you up without a fight. If anyone wants to take you, they're going to have to go through us."

Emma sat perfectly still in the chair, her eyes searching Snow's. She must have recognized the sincerity on Snow's face because after a moment, she shot up from her seat and launched herself into Snow's arms. A thoroughly shocked Snow automatically wrapped her arms around her baby girl and held on tight, tears of joy in her eyes.

Her baby was seeking comfort from her. Her baby was _hugging_ her!

She'd wanted this every moment of every day since the curse broke, to hold her little girl in her arms and just … be. To comfort her, to help her heal. Adult Emma was not a huggy person. Snow had gotten in a few hugs, of course, but she'd pretty much just taken them. Only once had Emma truly hugged her, in the Enchanted Forest in apology for telling Mulan to cut down the beanstalk.

Little Emma wasn't entirely at ease with physical contact, either, but she'd clearly not yet lost a child's natural desire to be comforted by being held. And Snow had no intention of letting her go, not until she wanted to be let go.

Snow glanced up at her husband's over her daughter's head and met his gaze. He was smiling at her with everything he had through the tears in his own eyes. This was a breakthrough, a real breakthrough for all of them. For Emma and for their entire family.

"You're ours, sweetheart," Snow repeated, whispering the words into her daughter's ear. Her poor baby had never heard those words before, and she wanted to make sure they stuck. Emma's arms tightened around her in response. "You're here to stay."

She felt Emma nod and then the little girl pulled out of the hug, tears in her eyes and a shy, sheepish expression on her face. "I'm sorry."

The words tore through Snow's heart. A child wanting a hug was as natural as the sun in the sky, and here her poor baby was, apologizing for it. "You never have to apologize for hugging me, Emma," Snow told her, once grasping her little hands. "Never, all right?"

Emma nodded and then turned back to the game. Snow took a deep breath, shaking off her emotions, and after taking a moment to squeeze his baby's shoulders from behind, Charming did the same. Then they both picked up their markers, rejoining the game with their daughter.

It was a close game, but Emma ended up being the winner. "Wonderful job, kiddo," Charming said, gently tugging on a lock of her hair.

She smiled shyly in response. "Thanks."

Just then, a still somewhat sleepy Henry padded down the stairs. Emma's slightly tense shoulders relaxed when she saw him, saw that he was still there and that he was okay. "Hey, you're playing the dot game?" he asked when he got a look at what they'd been doing. "Can I play, too?"

"Of course," Charming said, sliding the paper closer so he could draw a new playing field. Then he looked up at his daughter, a mischievous grin on his lips. "Although, now that makes four of us. You know what that means?"

"Eleven dots?" Emma asked uncertainly.

"_Twelve_ dots."

Snow smirked. Henry sent them both a bewildered glance, but Emma simply shot an excited grin at her father. "Twelve dots is going to be awesome."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** One of my favorite things to do with my dad when I was growing up was make spaghetti and meatballs from scratch. (Seriously, I'm such a spoiled half-Italian girl, to the point that I don't like getting raviolis or lasagna at restaurants, because they're never as good as my dad's.) That was the only plan for this chapter ... the rest of it happened on its own. It will never stop weirding me out when that happens, haha.

* * *

It didn't take long at all for Henry to decide that twelve dots was indeed awesome, despite the fact that it took the game a little longer to really get going. There were a _lot_ of lines to draw before any of them could begin making boxes.

What was really great, though, was watching his little mom have so much fun playing and just being together with everyone. He still missed his adult mom like crazy, but when his gramma had come upstairs to talk to him, she'd _promised_ him Emma would only be little for a couple of days because she missed adult Emma, too.

She'd hidden the medallion in her room, she told him when he asked about it, so that little Emma wouldn't find it and accidentally make another wish. And then she'd said that these days with his mom being little could help Emma more than any amount of talking with adult Emma ever could. "I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen, Henry, and I know you miss her, but the next couple of days could be really good for her," she'd said. "We could help her feel more at ease with us; we could help her _really_ feel better."

And when she put it like that … wasn't that what he'd been trying to do with Operation Ladybug? Make his mom feel better? So maybe Operation Ladybug wasn't a complete and total failure after all. Maybe this was just … Phase Three. He hadn't exactly planned on having a Phase Three, but he was certainly willing to adjust.

"Aw, man!" little Emma cried now, drawing Henry back to the game at hand. At first he didn't understand what the problem was, but when he saw that his grandmother was in the middle of making a box chain, he smirked. Emma's turn was before Snow's; she must have placed a line wrong.

"Thank you for that, Miss Emma," Snow teased once she'd finished the chain. "I needed those eight boxes."

Emma playfully stuck her tongue out at her mother, causing everyone to chuckle.

Henry watched his little mom in awe. He couldn't get over how much more relaxed she seemed, even from just a little while ago when he'd gone upstairs. What had happened down here while he was asleep? Whatever it was, it looked like his gramma was right: this time being little _was_ good for her. It was a world of good for her.

After a few more lines and boxes, Snow did indeed end up winning the game, due in no small part to the box chain Emma had accidentally afforded her. As a matter of fact, she ended up with only six boxes more than Emma. "Wait, so if I hadn't messed up, I would have won?" the girl asked, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"Maybe," Snow allowed, winking at her daughter. Emma scowled playfully.

As Charming slid the paper closer to him to draw out yet another playing grid, Emma snatched Gracie off the table and settled the plush cat on her lap. "What are we having for dinner?" she asked as she absentmindedly ran her hand over Gracie's fur.

Charming and Snow exchanged an amused grin while Henry muffled a snicker with a cough. It hadn't even been two hours since they'd had lunch, and Emma was already asking about dinner? Little Emma had the same appetite as adult Emma, that was for sure.

"I hadn't thought about it yet," Snow answered, smiling gently at her little daughter. "What do you want to have?"

Emma blinked at her in surprise. "I get to pick dinner?"

Snow must have remembered what Henry had pulled with Emma's overflowing bowl of cereal at breakfast, because she said, "Within reason, so don't go thinking you can ask for ice cream and cookies, but since this is your first dinner with us, you can absolutely pick what we have. Surely you must have a favorite meal."

The girl's eyes shot to Charming for confirmation. When he nodded at her, she grinned and happily hugged Gracie. (Which was Item Number Three on Henry's Mercilessly Tease Emma About Gracie list, by the way.) "If I really get to pick … spaghetti and meatballs and bread and butter. And maybe ice cream for dessert?"

God, she was so cute, Henry could hardly stand it. He turned an amused look on his grandparents. His grandpa seemed to be just as amused as he was while his gramma was both thrilled that her daughter had agreed to choose dinner and mentally running through the contents of their cabinets. "I know we have spaghetti and sauce," she murmured, mostly to herself. "Bread and butter is easy, but I don't think we have any meatballs …"

Little Emma didn't miss a beat. "If we don't have them, can we make them?"

This time, Henry couldn't keep a snicker from escaping. Snow once again took mental stock of their food stores before smiling down at her little daughter. "I actually think we do have everything we need to make them."

Emma grinned, then shyly asked, "If we're making them, can I help?"

A touched smile lit Snow's face. "Absolutely, but I have to give you fair warning: making meatballs is kind of yucky. Are you sure you want to help?"

When Emma nodded, Snow reached out to cup her daughter's cheek in her palm. Henry was surprised that Emma didn't even flinch at the contact. All right, some kind of miracle had happened while he was asleep; he'd have to get it out of his grandfather later.

"All right, then, sweetheart," Snow continued, running her thumb along Emma's cheek before bringing her hand back down to her side. "We should start now if we're going to do it, though, because the meatballs have to simmer in the sauce for a while."

The little girl glanced at both Charming and Henry, silently making sure they didn't mind playing without her and Snow. Of course neither of them minded; Charming was thrilled for his wife that Emma wanted to do something with her and Henry was thrilled for his little mom that she was going to have more togetherness and fun with her own mom.

And now that Henry thought about it, watching little Emma learn how to make meatballs sounded like it would be more fun than playing more rounds of the dot game. (He didn't think the game would be as fun without Emma's little giggles.) "Even though it's yucky," Henry spoke up, "can I help, too?"

His mom's smile was enough to make the impending yuckiness worth it. Snow smiled at him as well. "Of course you can."

Charming grinned at the thought of another family cooking lesson. As his wife, daughter, and grandson tromped over to the kitchen island, he cleared off the table, put away the art supplies, and stuck the sheet of construction paper up on the refrigerator with Henry's barn and Emma's castle from earlier. Then he joined his family at the island, surprising them all by pulling the tall sauce pot and a frying pan out of the cabinet and setting them both on the stove.

"What are you doing?" Snow asked as he crossed the room to the other cabinets.

After a bit of rummaging, he withdrew a can of crushed tomatoes and a couple of cans of tomato paste. "Homemade meatballs deserve homemade sauce, don't you think?"

Excitement lit Emma's eyes. "I definitely do," she nodded, making everyone chuckle.

Henry and Emma grabbed the mixing bowl and the measuring cups while Snow pulled a package of ground beef and the eggs out of the fridge. Charming opened the cans, revealing an almost endless potential for a complete and utter mess. Emma glanced from the cans to Gracie and then ran back to the table to put Gracie down. Henry watched her, smiling when he noticed that she did position the cat so she could see what was going on at the island. Emma just didn't want her in the middle of the mess.

_Item Number Four_, Henry grinned to himself.

While Charming took care of the sauce, Snow added the ground beef to the mixing bowl, had Henry measure out the bread crumbs, and asked Emma to crack the egg. She looked a little nervous as she grabbed an egg, probably remembering how she'd dropped shell into the bowl while making cookies earlier. This time, she didn't drop a single sliver of shell. A proud grin lit her face as she threw the two intact shell halves away. "Good source of calcium right in the trash," Charming sighed teasingly.

Henry wrinkled his nose – because seriously, ew – while Emma giggled.

With a slight, indulgent roll of her eyes at her husband, Snow added the herbs, spices, and grated cheese to the bowl. Then she smiled down at the children. "All right, little hands need to be washed. Then it's mixing time."

Emma and Henry washed their hands at the sink and dried them with the dishrag Snow handed them. Then Emma stood in front of the bowl, took a deep breath, and stuck her hands into the bowl. "Ew, gross!" she giggled when the ingredients squished between her fingers. "Henry, you've got to try this!"

Henry couldn't swallow his snicker even though his grandparents managed to muffle theirs. "I told you it was yucky," Snow reminded her through an amused smile. "Everything in that bowl needs to get mixed up really well."

One tentative dip of Henry's hand into the bowl proved that it _was_ gross. And cold. And yet, it was also a _lot_ of fun. "There's really no better way to mix it than with your hands?"

"Nope," Sow replied, grinning at the children.

Emma broke the egg yolk between her thumb and forefinger and giggled again. "Meatballs are definitely less gross when you're eating them," she said sagely, making everyone laugh.

In the time it took for Henry and Emma to knead the meat mixture into something that could conceivably be rolled into balls, Charming had gotten quite far on the sauce. He'd sautéed salt pork and fresh garlic in olive oil, which, along with the tomato base simmering on the stove, filled the air in the apartment with an aroma not unlike that of an Italian restaurant.

Emma pulled a chunk of meat from the bowl and rolled it between her hands, forming a ball. As she did so, she breathed in deeply, her eyes closing against the delicious aroma in the air. "You know what it smells like in here?"

"What's that?" Snow asked her.

She set the freshly made meatball on the broiler pan, her expression suddenly turning shy. "It smells like home," she murmured softly.

Tears leaped into her parents' eyes as they shared a touched glance. Henry watched with a gentle smile as Charming crouched down in front of his little girl and took her messy hands in his. "I think it smells like home, too."

Emma smiled at him and only turned back to the meatballs when he stood to refocus his attention on the sauce.

_Oh, yeah_, Henry thought, smiling to himself, _I'm totally salvaging Operation Ladybug_. It may not have been anywhere near the way he'd planned for Operation Ladybug to go, but this accidental wish _was_ helping his mom, and he'd been the one to give her the opportunity.

Charming rinsed off his hands at the sink. "You know, Mary Margaret was right," he said teasingly, winking at his little daughter. "Raw meatballs _are_ yucky."

Emma giggled then nodded sagely. "Yep. It's a good thing they taste so good because no one would make them otherwise."

Everyone shared a smile over the little girl's head, both touched that Emma felt comfortable enough with them to share her adorable little-kid observations and hoping that she would keep her adorable little-kid observations coming.


	13. Chapter 13

It turned out that little Emma adored making meatballs. Between the interest the little girl had shown in baking and cooking and her absolutely lovely help drying the dishes, Snow was beginning to believe that adult Emma wasn't as averse to the domestic arts as she liked to pretend she was.

Not that she had any intention of calling her on it. On the contrary, Snow was now wondering if Emma liked having someone pick up after her and cook for her. After all, those were things she should have had growing up; maybe she enjoyed having a taste of it now.

After all the meatballs were formed, Snow sent the children out of the kitchen. They ended up settling at the table with another sheet of construction paper and the markers, bouncing back and forth between tic tac toe and some kind of connect-the-dots game where one of them drew a series of random dots and the other tried to connect them into a recognizable shape.

Snow pulled the pan of meatballs out from under the broiler and used tongs to carefully transfer them to the pot of Charming's aromatic sauce. There they would simmer until it was time for dinner. Charming started on the dishes while Snow checked the freezer for the final element of Emma's favorite dinner.

She discovered to her dismay that they were out of ice cream. Either Emma or Henry – it could have been both of them, now that Snow thought about it – must have eaten the last of it and neglected to add replacements to the grocery list.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she closed the freezer door. A quick trip to the grocery store was now in order. Granted, they still had a couple of hours before dinner, but she wanted to have all the elements in the apartment before it became time to cook in earnest.

"No ice cream," she murmured to Charming as she pulled a dishrag out of the drawer to start drying. "I'll run out and get some, though."

"Go now, if you want," Charming murmured back. "I can watch the kids for a little bit."

Snow sent her wonderful husband a grateful smile. After placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she approached the kitchen table and crouched down next to her little daughter's chair. A thoroughly relaxed Emma turned to face Snow, eyes bright and a content smile on her face. "We're fresh out of ice cream, so I'm going to run out and get some more," Snow said. "What kind do you want?"

The sudden change in her baby's demeanor was one that Snow never saw coming. The smile dropped from her little face as she grabbed Gracie from the table and tightly hugged the cat to her chest. She made herself small on the chair, curling into herself as she tore her gaze from her mother's. Snow shot a panicked glance at her husband, catching her grandson's confused and worried gaze as well.

With a concerned frown, Charming turned the water off and rounded the island. He eased down at the table next to his grandson and across from his little daughter.

Her husband's silent offer of support to both her and Emma eased Snow's churning panic enough that she could focus on her daughter. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" Snow asked gently.

Even though there was clearly something wrong, Emma shook her head.

Snow's heart sank in her chest. She'd almost forgotten how stubborn her daughter could be when she set her mind to it. As stubborn as she was, though, little Emma was more open than adult Emma, and Snow was determined to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her baby girl.

This was where everyone else in Emma's young life had gotten it wrong. Everyone else had seen an unresponsive or uncooperative child and hadn't cared enough to figure out what was behind her reticence. No one had ever pushed her to open up and no one had ever taken the time to reassure her that her emotions were normal and could be handled. No, they'd just left it alone, left _her _alone. They'd left her to deal with it herself.

As if a child instinctively knew how to understand and properly deal with her own emotions, and as if a child knew how to reassure herself. Children needed to be taught, and Snow had every intention of not only teaching her baby but also proving to Emma that she wasn't alone anymore.

"I told you earlier you can tell me or ask me anything, Emma," she murmured to her daughter. "I meant it."

Emma didn't look up; she didn't move a single muscle. She did, however, say so softly that Snow had to strain to hear her, "I don't want you to go."

In that second, she understood. Her sweet little baby didn't want her to leave because she was afraid that she wouldn't come back. "Emma, sweetheart, look at me." She waited until Emma's teary eyes met hers. Oh, how she longed to hold her baby again, just hold her until she knew beyond any tiny sliver of doubt that she was loved and cherished and that someone would always be with her. "You said earlier that you could tell I was different. I promise you that all I'm going to do is run to the grocery store to get some ice cream. It'll take half an hour, tops. I _will_ come back to you, sweetheart."

Her assertion accomplished the exact opposite of what she wanted. Emma shook her head again and pulled her feet up onto the chair, hugging her knees. Snow remembered quite well when Emma had done the same thing the day before down by the water and how young it had made her look. Seeing her eight-year-old daughter in the same position made Snow's chest ache with despair. "Please don't go," Emma whispered, mostly into her knees.

"How about if I go?" Charming asked softly.

Emma shook her head a third time, the tears in her eyes spilling over. When she dropped her head to her knees, something inside Snow twisted and broke. Without a second thought, she gathered her little girl into her arms, hugging her tightly. "Shh, it's all right, Emma," she murmured into her baby's ear. "It's all right. Neither one of us will leave if you don't want us to leave."

It was too soon, Snow realized. It was too soon to test Emma's tenuous trust, too soon for either of them to leave and have Emma truly believe they were coming back. Rationally, Snow knew that one of them was going to have to leave the apartment without Emma at some point, but seeing her baby now, it was perfectly okay with her if some point did not occur today.

And when Emma's trembling arms clung to her with every ounce of strength her little body had, Snow knew that her split-second decision to physically comfort her little girl rather than talk to her had been the correct one. Right now, her baby needed to be held and needed to be soothed. The rest of it – the reassurance and the talking – could come later.

"It's all right, sweetheart," she again whispered into her daughter's ear. "It's all right. We're staying right here with you."

For a long moment, Snow just held Emma in the hug. Then she softly asked, "How about if I call Ruby and see if she'll bring us the ice cream, hmm?"

Emma's tense little body instantly relaxed at the suggestion. She pulled out of the hug, wiped her eyes, and nodded. "Can you ask if she can get chocolate?"

Snow smiled at her and teasingly raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Just plain chocolate? No triple chocolate chunk or chocolate with marshmallow and caramel or chocolate peanut butter cup?"

Finally, a little giggle escaped Emma's lips. "No, just plain chocolate."

"All right, just plain chocolate it is."

She stood up, which must have signaled Emma to reclaim her seat at the table. After she got herself situated, Emma reached her little hand up to latch onto Snow's. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," Snow replied, squeezing her baby's hand. "I'm going to call Ruby now, okay?"

Emma nodded, smiling shyly at her, and then pulled her hand from Snow's and turned back to the tic tac toe game with Henry. A teary-eyed Henry glanced up at Snow, who nodded at him to let him know it was okay to continue the game if Emma wanted to do so.

As she rounded the table, she squeezed her husband's shoulder. He reached up to take her hand, a silent show of support and gratitude. Their eyes met, and with just a glance, he was able to convey how proud he was of her for handling Emma as well as she had along with the reassurance that he'd watch over the children while she made her phone call.

She once again smiled gratefully at him. What on earth would she ever do without him?

She'd decided to use the phone in her bedroom to make the call; there were things she was going to have to tell Red that she didn't want Emma overhearing. She picked up the receiver and dialed her best friend's number. "I have another favor to ask you," she said after Red picked up and the two women exchanged pleasantries.

"Another Emma-related favor, I hope," Red chuckled into the phone.

Snow grinned. There was no doubt in her mind that Red would have been the cool aunt who spoiled her little niece at every turn had the curse not stolen the opportunity. "It is indeed an Emma-related favor. Would you mind picking up some chocolate ice cream for us? Emma wants some for dessert following dinner but apparently either adult Emma or Henry ate the last of it. When I told her I was running out to the store to get some, she had a mini-meltdown."

Red drew in a pained breath. "She didn't want you to leave?"

"Either of us," Snow confirmed. "I think she was afraid we wouldn't come back." She sighed heavily. "I knew her childhood was rough, Red, but seeing her like this … she's been so hurt, so neglected. It _kills_ me, and it breaks my heart to think that we're never going to be able to properly address her issues in the next couple of days."

"No, of course not," Red replied gently. "It's going to take more than a couple of days to undo eight years' worth of neglect and pain. And even when she changes back, she'll still have those twenty-eight years of it all behind her. That said, what you're doing now is giving her a bright spot to look back on, a little glimmer of hope in the darkness. You'll be able to address some of her issues, and that's an opportunity not everyone gets."

Snow smiled, blinking back the sudden tears that her friend's words had sent to her eyes. "Have you been talking to Charming?"

"No, why? Did he say something similar? Because if he did, that's clear proof that we're both a hundred percent right."

At that, Snow chuckled. "Yes, I guess you are."

"See? Told you," Red teased. "About the ice cream … she really wants plain chocolate? No chocolate chocolate chip or anything?"

"I asked her the exact same question, and she assured me she wants just plain chocolate."

"Huh. Apparently eight-year-old Emma doesn't have adult Emma's refined palate."

Snow chuckled again. "Apparently not. Thanks for this, Red. I'll pay you back for the ice cream when you get here."

Red clucked her tongue. "You know it's no trouble, and don't worry about the money. It's been a very long time since I've brought you food. I have to say, I kind of missed it. I'll see you in a little bit."

Snow thanked her again, said goodbye, and hung up the phone. What on earth would she do without Red as well?

When she stepped out of the bedroom, she noted with relief that her little Emma seemed a lot more relaxed than she did when Snow left the room. She and Henry were in the middle of their umpteenth game of tic tac toe and Gracie had reclaimed her spot on the kitchen table, looking on.

Charming had finished washing the dishes in the meantime and was now drying. When Snow stepped up beside him to put the dishes away as he dried, he greeted her with a gentle kiss on her temple.

It just so happened that Henry looked up at the exact moment of the kiss. "Ew," he said teasingly, nudging Emma so that she would look over at the adults.

As soon as Emma got a look at what Henry had found so gross, she wrinkled her nose as well. "Yuck."

Snow and Charming chuckled as they broke apart. "Some day, neither of you will think kissing is gross," Snow teased as she grabbed the frying pan to put away first.

"I'm pretty sure I'll always think kissing is gross," Emma argued, giving an exaggerated shudder. "Kisses are grosser than making meatballs."

"As well you should, and yes they are," Charming said, nodding emphatically at his little girl. "You shouldn't want to kiss anyone for a long, long time."

Snow gave an indulgent roll of her eyes as she lightly swatted her husband's shoulder.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Attention: daddy/wee daughter time below! We all know by now that I apologize for nothing, right? Right. :)

* * *

Although Charming did keep half an eye on the dishes as he dried, most of his attention was focused on his little girl. There were no words for how gut-wrenching her little meltdown had been to witness. He'd been on the verge of jumping up and gathering her into a hug himself when Snow had taken their little baby into her arms. Through teary eyes, he'd watched his wife console their daughter, and then he'd had to put the emotions away for the childrens' sakes.

After Snow had soothed Emma's fears and dried Emma's eyes, it was up to Charming to keep her and Henry amused and entertained. Joking around and being silly just to make his little girl laugh came so easily to him, but he honestly had no idea where it was coming from. It seemed to be pure paternal instinct, which he hadn't even been aware he possessed.

"She seems to be doing all right," Snow murmured to him as she slipped the frying pan from his hand.

Charming blinked as he tore his attention from his daughter. "I wasn't done with that."

"Yes, you were," she chuckled. "It's bone-dry."

He shot her a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"No apology necessary. I know where your attention lay." She nodded towards the children, who had tired of tic tac toe and had decided to draw pictures again. Charming couldn't see from his angle what either of them was drawing but Emma's artwork clearly required a lot of color because she changed crayons frequently. "Like I said, she seems to be doing all right. No worse for the wear, at any rate."

No, she didn't look any worse for the wear. As a matter of fact, Emma looked quite content, her little tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she drew. "Now I know where Henry gets it," Charming murmured with an amused smile. When Snow frowned at him, he stuck his tongue out to silently make his point.

She smiled as well. Like mother, like son, indeed.

When the dishrag Charming was using had finally soaked up too much water to properly dry the rest of the dishes, he dug into the drawer for another one. By the time he found it and closed the drawer, a little blonde girl had appeared at his side. "What can I do for you, Miss Emma?" he asked, giving his daughter a smile.

"That's a lot of dishes to put away," she spoke up almost hesitantly.

Charming exchanged a smile with Snow, who sensed she was about to get some help putting all those dishes away. "Yes, indeed. Making meatballs and sauce is messy in more ways than one," he agreed.

And just as Snow suspected, the next words out of Emma's mouth were, "Can I help?"

A touched glance passed between husband and wife. "Of course you can, sweetheart," Snow replied. "I'll tell you where things go and you can put them away, and I'll put away the things that go in the cabinets you can't reach. Does that work?"

Emma smiled gratefully at her.

Charming couldn't help smiling as well. Good gods, how he adored seeing his little girl smile. "And then after that, you can help me stir the sauce so it doesn't burn."

Her eyes widened as her little jaw dropped open in surprise. "You can burn sauce?"

A muffled snicker from the direction of the table told Charming that Henry was listening to the conversation as he worked on his drawing. He winked at his grandson, then addressed his daughter. "You can absolutely burn sauce. And if we burn the sauce, we won't be able to have spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Nothing ruins good spaghetti more than burnt sauce."

The phone rang then, and Snow excused herself to take the call. It was probably Red calling to tell them she was on her way to the apartment with Emma's requested ice cream, and if it was, she was going to want to talk to Snow anyway. As soon as Snow vacated her spot next to Charming, Emma slid into it. "What does burnt sauce taste like?"

A glance out of the corner of his eye proved that Henry was still at the table, still drawing, and still listening. He caught his grandfather's eye and gave him an encouraging little smile. And with that, Charming decided that Henry was definitely getting an extra scoop of ice cream at dessert. His wonderful grandson was purposely staying seated at the table to give his grandfather these few moments alone with little Emma.

After giving Henry a touched and grateful look, Charming returned his attention to Emma. "It tastes … smoky, but not in the good way. Think fire and not barbecue. Kind of ashy."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Yuck!"

"You don't have to say that twice," he chuckled.

"How do you know what burnt sauce tastes like?" Without Snow to direct her, Emma was just putting the dishes where she thought they belonged. She was wrong most of the time, but Charming saw no reason to correct her. He'd just have fix it later when she wasn't looking, was all.

"My mother burnt a whole pot of sauce when I was about your age," he said, smiling fondly at the memory. "She left it over ..." He trailed off, inwardly cursing himself when he realized he'd almost told Emma that his mother had left the pot over the fire. "She left it on the stove too long and it burned. She ended up having to throw the whole batch away. I asked if I could taste it just to see what it tasted like, and she let me. It wasn't good."

"Because it tasted like a fire?"

"Exactly."

Emma giggled at the exaggerated disgusted face he'd made. "Is that how you learned how to make sauce? With your mom?"

"Yes indeed." He'd had to adjust the recipe to make use of this world's ingredients, of course. Tomato paste from a can was infinitely easier and quicker than making it from scratch. Still, the basic method had remained the same. "She taught me how to make all kinds of dishes and sauces."

"I wish I knew how to make things." Emma put a freshly dried fork and butter knife back in the correct drawer. "Mrs. Greenwood taught me how to make toast. She said I couldn't do it without her watching me but she let me make it all by myself."

The pride in Emma's little voice put a loving smile on Charming's face. "That's wonderful, Emma. Who's Mrs. Greenwood?"

Sometimes interacting with Emma – adult Emma _and_ little Emma – was a little like walking around in a war zone. Everything would be going fine and then, boom, either he or Snow would step right onto a hidden landmine. They would never know what would trigger the landmine but the only thing they could do when something did was to try to defuse it before it exploded.

Mrs. Greenwood, apparently, was a landmine. The little smile dropped from Emma's face and she tore her gaze away from his. For the briefest of moments, Charming was afraid to move, afraid to set off the landmine. Then clarity came and he realized he needed to move to defuse it.

He set the broiler pan back into the sink and crouched down next to his daughter. Since she taught Emma to make toast, Mrs. Greenwood seemed to have actually taken an interest in her. It was for that reason that Charming felt comfortable enough asking, "Was Mrs. Greenwood a nice lady?"

Emma nodded. "She let me keep _Madeline_."

Ah, so that was why she'd gotten so quiet. Mrs. Greenwood was the director of the group home who'd given six-year-old Emma the _Madeline_ anthology. Emma had clearly liked her and, judging by the way she'd talked about her toast cooking lessons, even looked up to her. Then she was taken from the group home and placed with new foster parents, new foster parents who'd more than likely not been nearly as nice as Mrs. Greenwood.

Good God, no wonder adult Emma couldn't relax. If she'd been bounced around this much as a child, if she'd been taken from places where she'd had good people looking after her only to get dumped into places where no one cared about her …

No wonder she was so hesitant. No wonder she was so closed-off. She'd hadn't had a sense of belonging anywhere, and whenever she thought that maybe she was finally going to find it, it had been taken away from.

Charming felt the tears pricking the backs of his eyes, tears for his sweet girl who'd had to fight for something no child should ever have to fight for. Tears for his sweet little Emma, who'd never had real love or real belonging or a real family. Tears for his baby, who deserved much, much more than this world afforded her.

"You know," he said softly as he lightly grasped his daughter's hands and tried not to sound choked up, "Mary Margaret and I can teach you how to make things. It would be like with Mrs. Greenwood and we'd have to watch you while you do it, but we could teach you, if you'd like."

And finally, the smile returned to his little girl's face as she nodded gratefully. "I'd like that a lot."

"We would, too." Charming smiled as he let go of her hands. "Our first lesson will be stirring sauce."

"So it doesn't burn."

"You remembered! That, my little Emma, gets you your first gold star of the day."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to call her his but it was too late, and all he could do now was hold his breath and await the fallout.

Emma backed away a couple of steps, sudden tears brimming in her eyes. Her little walls were shooting up again. "Am I really yours? Am I really your little Emma?"

"Yes, kiddo," he told her with utmost seriousness. She was his in more ways than one, though he didn't think she'd at all figured out that he was really her father. No, this was less literal but just as important. Emma needed to find her place in this world, needed to find a sense of security and the sense of belonging she so desperately wanted. He didn't want her to think he was offering her that sense of belonging and family lightly or blithely. "Yes, you are, and I am so very glad that you're my little Emma."

She blinked quickly to disperse the tears in her eyes then looked deep into his. Searching, always searching. "Am I your little Emma forever now?" she whispered, as if she didn't dare believe it.

The words tore through his heart. All children should be someone's forever. "Yes, Emma," he said insistently, looking his little girl in the eye. "I promise you're my little Emma forever. I promise with all my heart."

Her tears finally spilled over even as a pleasantly surprised smile tugged at her lips. "You're different, too," she said after a moment.

And then his baby utterly shocked him: she stepped forward and tightly wrapped her arms around him. His arms encircled her automatically, his hand bracing her head. His heart exploded with pure love and joy as he held his little daughter in his arms. He'd longed for this, ached for this, and here it was, finally happening. His sweet little girl was hugging him, putting her trust in him, and he was determined not to let her down. "I am different, Emma. We all are. I promise you're not alone anymore, kiddo."

He felt her nod and after a long moment, she stepped out of the hug and wiped her eyes. She smiled gratefully at him before turning back to the dishes. Letting out a soft and shaky breath, Charming stood up straight and set to work drying the broiler pan. After Emma put away the measuring spoons, she sidled up next to him, standing closer than before.

Snow returned then but judging by the tears in her eyes, she'd purposely hung back a while so as not to interrupt the tender moment between father and daughter. Charming sent his wife a grateful look and when she approached, she gave another gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "You did a marvelous job, Daddy," she whispered, low enough that Emma couldn't hear her.

Charming's heart fluttered in his chest. He _was_ a daddy, wasn't he? He was Emma's daddy, and there was nothing – in this world or the other – that felt more amazing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Another actual warning here: hints at child abuse. No details. Also, this chapter certainly took on a life of its own. Oops?

* * *

Emma giving Charming a hug was one of the sweetest things – no, _the_ sweetest thing – Snow had ever witnessed. She hadn't been able to see Charming's face but she imagined she knew exactly how he'd felt, but she felt the same way when Emma had hugged her. Relief and pride and pure love had all coursed through her veins when she held her little daughter, and she hadn't wanted to let go. After all, she had twenty-eight years' worth of hugs and cuddles to give her baby.

And though she couldn't see Charming's face because his back was to her, she could see Emma's. The little girl had closed her eyes tightly against her tears and held onto her father for dear life. It had been so heartwarming to witness, so wonderful to see father and daughter connection on such a base and fundamental level.

No one had said a word about any of the hugs since then, of course. They'd all learned from adult Emma that calling attention to it would only make her uncomfortable. They were all thinking about it, though, if the constant smile on Henry's face and the little glances that passed between husband and wife over the children's heads were any indication.

True to Charming's word, he and Snow had decided to teach Emma how to cook spaghetti. The girl was just dragging one of the kitchen chairs over to the counter so she could see when a quiet knock on the door interrupted them. A smile pulled at the corners of Snow's mouth as she addressed her little daughter. "Take a guess who's at the door, Emma."

Excitement sparkled in Emma's bright green eyes. "Is it Ruby with the ice cream?"

"Why don't you go see?" Charming asked, giving the girl a wink.

"I get to answer the door?"

"If you want to."

Emma beamed and dashed to the front door, grabbing Gracie from the table on her way past. Snow and Charming exchanged an amused glance as the girl whipped the door open and, sure enough, found Red on the other side. A grocery bag containing the requested half gallon of plain chocolate ice cream was hanging from her arm. "Well, hello, Emma," Red said, smiling down at the little girl. "The new clothes look great on you. Hold on, you've _got_ to model them for me."

The girl's cheeks flushed slightly but when Red stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind herself, Emma did indeed do a quick spin, modeling her new jeans and yellow shirt. Red sent a quick stunned glance over the little girl's head to her parents. She seemed so much more relaxed than the last time Red had seen her, and that was just a few hours ago!

Snow smiled gently at her friend, who smiled back. She definitely needed to tell Red the whole story but they both knew that now was not the time to get into it. Red turned her attention back to Emma, grinning down at the little girl. "Just like I said, they look great! You didn't need me and David to be your personal shoppers. You've got great style all on your own, munchkin."

Emma blushed again and gave Red a shy smile as she held her hand out for the ice cream so she could put it away before it began to melt. Red handed over the bag, then followed Emma as she headed towards the kitchen. She came to a stop at the kitchen island, inhaling deeply. "It smells delicious in here!"

"David made the sauce," Emma replied happily. She closed the freezer door and climbed up onto a stool next to Red. "Mary Margaret and Henry and I made the meatballs. The store made the spaghetti, I guess, but dinner's going to be so good! We're having bread and butter, too, and guess what we're having for dessert!"

"Hmm, let me think," Red said, tapping her chin and making an exaggerated "concentrating" face. "Could it possibly be … chocolate ice cream?"

Emma giggled, then nodded excitedly. "Uh huh! It's my favorite dinner. Mary Margaret said I could pick. Do you want to stay and eat with us?"

Now it was Snow's turn to give a stunned look, this one at her little girl. It wasn't that she at all minded Emma extending a dinner invitation to Red. It was that she was shocked that Emma felt comfortable enough, both with Red and within the family, to invite her to dinner. "You're more than welcome, Ruby," she said after she'd recovered her voice. "We have plenty of spaghetti and meatballs."

"And bread and butter," Emma reminded her.

"Yeah, the bread and butter is the most important part, Mary Margaret," Henry teased. Emma muffled a giggle behind her hand.

Snow smiled at the children. "Silly me. We have plenty of bread and butter, too."

When Red looked up and met her friend's gaze, Snow could see the conflict in her eyes. She didn't want to disappoint Emma but she also believed that the family's first dinner with little Emma should be spent as a family. Eventually, she shot Emma an apologetic smile. "I'd love to stay, munchkin, but I already promised Granny I'd have dinner with her tonight."

Emma's face fell as she tightened her arm around Gracie. Red winced."Tell you what, though. If you all come to the diner tomorrow night, Granny and I will make you dinner. I know Granny would love to see you again, and I might be able to convince her to let me take my break when you guys come in so I can eat with you."

That suggestion instantly brightened Emma's eyes. Turning to Snow, she asked, "Can we, Mary Margaret?"

The girl looked so utterly hopeful that Snow didn't have the heart to deny her. "Of course we can, sweetheart. Thank you very much, Ruby."

The friends exchanged a glance over the little girl's head. Just as Snow suspected she would be, Red was absolutely wonderful with Emma. Words were not enough to thank her friend for not only considering Emma's feelings but the rest of the family's as well. "You're welcome," Red replied, smiling at Snow.

In that instant, Snow knew Red understood how grateful they all were to her. And not only did she understand, but she also managed to silently let Snow know that it was her pleasure. No, Snow could not have chosen a more perfect godmother for her baby.

After a moment, Red refocused her attention on Emma. "I have to be getting back now, munchkin. I'm going to be late for my own dinner."

"Not yet," Emma instructed. "Just one more second."

She ran back to the kitchen table and snatched the drawing she'd been working on before she got up to help put away the dishes. When she rejoined the adults, she handed the drawing to Red, who gasped. "Did you make this for me?"

"Uh huh," Emma replied, nodding shyly. "I thought of it when Mary Margaret said you were going to bring us the ice cream. It's to say thank you."

Snow and Charming exchanged a surprised look before craning their necks to see what Emma had made for her new favorite aunt. She'd drawn a bunch of balloons, so many that they took up most of the sheet of paper. They were all a different color and all the strings were tied to together at the bottom of the page with a little bow. Charming smirked; so _that_ was why she'd used so many crayons.

"I love it, Emma," Red breathed, giving the little girl a touched smile. "I'm going to put it right up on the fridge the second I get home." When Emma grinned at her, Red leaned down to whisper something into the girl's ear. Her parents couldn't hear what she'd said but whatever it was made Emma giggle.

"Hey, what's the secret?" Charming asked through a tender smile.

"If we told you, then it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?" Red teased. She winked at Emma, who giggled again. Then she pushed herself up from the stool, drawing in hand, and headed for the door. "Don't forget, dinner on us tomorrow."

And with that she was out the door. Emma had followed her, and after she closed the apartment door, she turned to her parents. "I _really_ like her."

Charming and Snow shared an amused smile. "I can tell that she really likes you, too, kiddo," Charming replied. "She doesn't tell secrets to just anyone, you know."

"That was very nice of you to make her a drawing," Snow added.

Emma smiled shyly as she crossed the room. Apparently, talking about Red's affection for her had begun to make the girl uncomfortable because just like adult Emma, she was a master subject-changer. "Now what?"

Snow hid a smirk at her little daughter's attempt at deflection. Still, she went along with it. "Well," she said as she surveyed the scene in front of her, "we have to wait for the water to boil before we can cook the pasta. Why don't you and Henry set the table while we wait?"

Sudden panic flashed into the girl's eyes, and her arm once again reflexively tightened around Gracie. Neither Snow nor Charming had any idea why suggesting she set the table sent Emma into a panic, but Henry, bless his heart, seemed to figure it out pretty quickly. "It's okay if you don't know how to set the table, Emma," he said, smiling in an effort to set her at ease. "I can show you."

Emma relaxed slightly but not completely. Still, she joined Henry at the cabinet while he retrieved four plates from the lowest shelf. "We should get everything over to the table first," he said. "Can you take the plates over while I get the glasses?"

The little girl didn't move. Henry glanced up at his grandparents, concern and panic swimming in his eyes.

Tamping down concern of her own, Snow approached the children. The pure hesitance on Emma's face broke her heart. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Despite the obvious fear and pain in the little girl's eyes, Snow was expecting her to insist that nothing was wrong. Someone could have knocked her over with a feather when Emma asked in a tiny voice, "What if I drop the plates?"

Part of Snow was thrilled beyond words that Emma was relaxing enough with them to answer their questions without them having to drag it out of her. A larger part of Snow, however, dreaded the reason Emma even had to ask that question. "You're not going to drop the plates, Emma."

"But what if I do?"

"Then we'll go out and buy new plates," Charming assured her. "It won't be a big deal."

Emma did not look at all convinced. She darted her gaze between the two adults, her eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears. "You won't be mad? I … I won't get punished?"

The sinking feeling in the pit of Snow's stomach instantly turned to roiling nausea. Oh gods, how she hated the people who'd taken such poor care of her baby. They were damn lucky that neither she nor Charming could leave Storybrooke. If she ever came across anyone who laid a hand on her baby …

Snow swallowed the lump in her throat and looked her sweet daughter in the eye. "No, Emma, we won't get mad and you won't get punished. We will _never_ punish you the way you've been punished before. If you drop the plates tonight, we know it'll be an accident, but honestly, I think you're worrying over nothing. If you put Gracie down, make sure you have a good grip on them with both hands, and take it slow, you should be perfectly fine."

Emma searched her eyes for a beat. Snow held her gaze. She wanted Emma to know that she trusted her and that it was time for Emma to trust herself. Eventually, the girl nodded. Then she turned to face Henry, set her little shoulders, and held her hands out for the plates.

Henry whispered something to her that neither Snow nor Charming could hear, but whatever it was, it relaxed the girl completely. She smiled at him as he handed her two of the plates and nodded towards the table.

Her second trip with the other two plates went just as smoothly as the first. Emma turned to her parents, beaming with pride that she'd made both trips without so much as a wobble. "Wonderful job, sweetheart!" Snow exclaimed, grinning at her little girl. "I knew you were worrying over nothing."

"It was Henry's idea to take two at a time," Emma informed them.

The boy shrugged as if the solution had been completely obvious. "Dishes are heavy."

Snow smiled at her amazing grandson, grateful that he was around to consider certain things from a child's perspective.

Henry carried the glasses to the table – all four at once, causing Emma to stare at him in awe – while instructing Emma to grab four napkins. Then he took four forks and four butter knives from the utensil drawer. Once all the elements were assembled, the setting-the-table lesson began in earnest.

It turned out that Henry was quite the good little teacher. The Mary Margaret Blanchard within Snow kept proud watch as he first set one place, then had Emma copy it while he observed. Once he was sure Emma had everything down, he challenged her to a race to see who could set the other places the fastest.

Emma set her final piece of dinnerware down – the glass above the plate – a split second before Henry plopped his knife down on the napkin. "You're a very quick learner!" he exclaimed, then shot a wink over her head to Snow.

Snow grinned; he'd let her win.

"Thanks," Emma beamed. "Now it's spaghetti lesson time, right?"

The water had indeed come up to a boil while the children were setting the table. "It is," Snow replied. "Come on over."

Even though Henry knew how to boil pasta, he approached the stove with Emma. Snow poured the dry spaghetti into the boiling water with both children looking on. "As the pasta absorbs the water, it softens up, and then we can stir it."

"You have to stir the spaghetti _and_ you have to stir the sauce?" Emma asked, her eyes wide. "That's a lot of stirring!"

Everyone chuckled at her observation. "It is a lot of stirring," Charming replied, "but it's worth it."

"Because then you don't burn things," Emma added, nodding sagely.

"And that, kiddo, just earned you your second gold star of the day," Charming said, smiling at his daughter. "You really are a quick learner!"

Emma smiled almost shyly as she sidled up next to him. When she turned her attention to the pasta, Snow and Charming exchanged a touched glance. Though Snow may have been hesitant about leaving Emma as a child that morning, she was certainly glad she'd let her husband talk her into taking a couple of days to see how it all shook out.

Emma's time being eight was most definitely healing some of her wounds. As a mother, seeing her daughter in pain and not knowing how to even begin to help her heal was one of the most gut-wrenching, soul-crushing thing Snow had ever felt. If she could help heal even a small portion of Emma's pain through showing love and affection to her little incarnation, then the opportunity to do so was one of the greatest gifts she had ever received.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** What I've said before about apologizing for nothing? Still stands. ;)

* * *

"Well," Charming said as he set his spoon down into his empty ice cream bowl, "I do believe this was the best dinner I've ever had. Thank you very much for suggesting it, Emma."

Emma smiled bashfully as she swallowed a spoonful of ice cream. "You're welcome."

"What was the best part?" Henry asked as he dug his spoon into his own ice cream.

"The bread and butter, of course," Charming teased, winking at Emma. She giggled in response, making both Charming and Snow grin.

A glance at both Henry's and Emma's bowls told Snow that they each only had a couple of spoonfuls of ice cream left. She took that as her cue and stood, gathering her ice cream bowl and Charming's in her hands. Henry finished the last of his ice cream and stood as well, intent on helping, but Snow shook her head at him. "You and Emma have helped more than your fair share today, Henry. You don't need to help clear the table. As a matter of fact, I think once Emma's done with her ice cream, it'll be bath and shower time for little children."

At the very mention of bath and shower time, said little children wrinkled their noses at one another. Snow and Charming exchanged an amused smile. Neither one found it prudent to mention that Henry and Emma would someday look forward to baths and showers. As a matter of fact, adult Emma took quite the marathon shower most of the time. No one in the apartment liked showering directly after her because nine times out of ten, she left little to no hot water. Henry wasn't quite there yet; he still viewed showers as annoying things he had to suffer through every day.

"What about after bath and shower time?" Henry asked.

A quick glance up at the clock proved they wouldn't really have the time for another organized activity after baths and showers were done. Snow wracked her brain for something quiet the family could do together while also winding the children down for bed. "How about having a movie night? We can decide on the movie after you're both in your PJs."

The children smiled at each other. Apparently, movie night was all right with them.

Snow and Charming began clearing the table in earnest. Henry cleared his place, then ran to the living area to hide out in an attempt to put off his shower as long as possible. Snow smirked; apparently Emma was getting the bathroom first tonight.

When Emma finished her ice cream, she brought her bowl and empty glass to the sink. "Mary Margaret?"

"Yes, Emma?"

"While we're watching the movie … will you get the tangles out of my hair? And then maybe play with it for a little while?"

Snow looked down at her little daughter, a touched smile on her face. "I would love to play with your hair, sweetheart." A soft gasp escaped her lips as she suddenly thought of something. "Do you know how to braid?"

Emma shook her head somewhat sadly.

Snow smiled gently at her little girl. "Would you like to learn?"

The girl's eyes brightened with excitement. "Yes, please."

Snow felt excitement of her own burbling in her chest. She was just a little younger than Emma when her own mother had taught her how to braid the hair of one of her dolls. They didn't have a doll for Emma, but Snow did have some yarn she could quickly cut and fashion into a tail long enough to braid. It would be perfect!

Her little daughter's voice broke through her crafting reverie. "Mary Margaret, do you have bubbles? For my bath, I mean."

They actually had quite the stash of bubble bath left over from Snow's Mary Margaret days. "Yes, we do, sweetheart. You like bubble baths?"

She nodded vigorously. "Uh huh. I didn't get to have them very often before."

Tears pricked the backs of Snow's eyes. Her poor little girl had been deprived of so much. There was so much that she should have had, so much that other children did have. And the thing was, Emma didn't even want much. As Snow had seen, all anyone had to do was offer the child a stuffed animal or a bubble bath and – most importantly – some loving attention, and it made the girl's day. She wasn't asking for anything out of the ordinary; all she'd ever wanted was to be loved. "Now you'll get to have as many bubble baths as you want, Emma," she said around the lump that had formed in her throat.

Emma smiled gratefully at her, thereby proving Snow's mental point.

Something new occurred to her then: had Emma ever had anyone take the time to make bath time fun for her – giving her tub toys and picking out her pajamas with her and drying and brushing her hair afterward – or had it always been treated as a lonely chore? She exchanged a glance with her husband, silently asking if he minded if she left him with the dishes while she got Emma ready for her bath. He smiled and nodded his head towards the stairs, just as silently telling her to go.

She shot him a grateful look before returning her attention to her little daughter. "Come on, Emma. Let's go get ready for your bubble bath."

The combination of confusion and cautious optimism on Emma's face answered Snow's question: the girl had never – or very rarely – had attention at bath time but she'd desperately wanted it. Swallowing hard against the ache in her chest, Snow held her hand out to her daughter. Emma grasped it tightly and the two of them climbed the stairs to the loft bedroom.

Emma plopped down on the mattress as Snow reached into the dresser drawer for the pajamas they'd bought that morning. "Do you want to wear your duck PJs tonight?"

"I think they might be too hot," Emma said. "Do you have more shirts like the one I was wearing this morning when I woke up? It was comfy."

Snow smiled as she closed the drawer and opened the one next to it. Sending a silent apology to her adult daughter for going through her stuff, she dug through the t-shirts until she found another one big enough to fit little Emma as a nightshirt. "How's this?" she asked, holding it up for her daughter's inspection.

Despite the fact that it was an old concert t-shirt for a band little Emma had probably never even heard of, she grinned. "I love it."

Snow smiled back at her daughter, draped the t-shirt over her arm, and grabbed Emma's hairbrush from her nightstand. "Now it's time to get your bubble bath going."

This time, it was Emma who held her hand out to Snow. Touched, Snow held onto her baby's hand tightly as they made their way down the stairs.

She didn't let go until they were inside the bathroom. She pulled a towel and a bottle of lavender-scented bubbles out of the linen closet then set the towel and t-shirt on the vanity before turning on the faucet in the tub. "Can I put the bubbles in the water?" Emma asked.

"Of course," Snow replied, handing the bottle over to Emma. She stuck her hand under the running water to test the temperature. It was warm but not hot, so she asked, "How does this feel?"

Emma stuck her hand under the stream as well. "Perfect," she said, smiling up at Snow.

Snow smiled back before pressing the rubber stopper into the drain, stepping back, and nodding to Emma to let her know she could add the bubbles.

The girl squeezed a generous amount of soap into the stream and watched in delight as the water foamed. When she handed the bottle back to her mother, Snow tucked it back into the linen closet. "All right, sweetheart, I'll leave you to it. We'll be right outside if you need us, okay?"

"Okay." Emma sat down on the closed lid of the toilet to pull off her socks. Just as Snow reached the doorway, Emma's little voice stopped her. "Mary Margaret?"

"Hmm?" she asked, turning to face her daughter.

She hesitated for the space of a heartbeat before saying, "I had a lot of fun today."

The ache in Snow's heart from earlier was instantly replaced with delight. "I did, too, sweetheart," she replied, smiling gently at her little girl.

* * *

It was Henry who suggested making _Flight of the Navigator_ the movie of the night – "because a kid travels through time and plays on a spaceship!" Emma seemed excited by the playing on a spaceship aspect of the movie, and Snow and Charming saw no reason to deny them. Henry made himself comfortable on the floor while Charming, Snow, and Emma gathered on the sofa. Mother and daughter were both seated sideways, Emma holding Gracie in her lap as always in front of Snow, so mother could play with daughter's hair as requested.

Snow couldn't get over how soft and manageable Emma's blonde curls were. Her hair was a dream to play with or even just brush until the curls bounced. At the moment, Snow was just brushing while Emma worked on braiding the yarn tail Snow had fashioned while she was in the bath.

The little girl had struggled with braiding at first but she soon got the hang of the process. Now she was practicing, braiding the tail over and over again. Snow was pleased to see that she was getting quicker with each practice braid.

Once she'd gotten Emma's hair completely tangle-free, Snow decided to style Emma's hair the way her mother did when Snow was about Emma's age. She gathered the sides and top of Emma's hair at the back of her head and tied off a half ponytail. Then she slid the hair tie down the tail a smidgeon and tucked the end of the ponytail down through the hole she'd made at the top of the elastic. She braided the ponytail and tied it off, leaving the braid lying flat among her baby's girls.

Smiling, she slipped Emma a hand mirror and held another mirror up behind her daughter's head. "What do you think, Miss Emma?"

The girl gasped the second she caught sight of what her mother had done to her hair. "I look like a princess!" she breathed.

The rest of the family exchanged a knowing smirk over the girl's head. "You do indeed, sweetheart," Snow said softly. She spied the camera still sitting on the end table and smiled to herself. Maybe now was the right time to take those pictures. "Can I take a picture of it?"

Emma nodded happily. Charming smiled at his wife as he handed over the camera. Snow snapped a quick picture of the back of Emma's head, then held her breath as she asked, "Can I take a picture of all of us?"

At that, the girl hesitated. Then, to Snow's immense relief, she nodded.

Smiling, Snow paused the movie and got everyone into position. She just hoped that the first picture would out well because she didn't think she'd be able to talk Emma into sitting for a photo shoot.

She set the timer on the camera and dashed back into position herself. She pulled Emma onto her lap and got the girl situated just as the camera counted down the final second. "Say cheese," she said.

"Cheese!" Henry and Emma said in unison.

The flash went off and Snow shifted Emma off her lap so she could check the image. Thankfully, the picture had come out perfect. "Can I see?" Henry asked her.

Snow handed the camera to Henry before unpausing the movie and once again situating herself behind her little daughter. "All right, Emma, do you want to leave your hair like this or do you want me to keep playing?"

Henry let out a soft giggle, and a glance over his shoulder proved he'd found the picture of little Emma napping against her father. "Can you keep playing?" Emma asked her. "I like the way you brush my hair."

She remembered that Emma had said as much that morning as well. "I'll keep playing," a touched Snow said softly. "If you want me to stop, just let me know."

Emma nodded. She set the yarn tail down and slowly stroked Gracie's plush fur instead.

For a while, everything was quiet. Snow continued to fiddle with her daughter's hair, keeping one eye on the movie. Emma occasionally fidgeted on the sofa but never told Snow to stop, so she didn't.

About three-quarters of the way through the movie, Emma's little head began to bob. From the amused expressions on the boys' faces, Snow gathered that the poor girl had been fighting sleep for a while now and was finally losing the battle. Smiling softly, Snow set the hairbrush down and gently rubbed her daughter's arm. "I think it's bedtime, sweetheart," she murmured.

The stubborn girl shook her head in protest and whined, "No, it's not." Still, she didn't argue at all when Charming lifted her off the couch and settled her on his hip. She nestled her head on his shoulder, her arms loosely wrapping around him. Gracie slipped from her loose grip and fell to the floor as he carried her up to the loft.

Snow exchanged a gentle smile with Henry as she told him they'd be right back and it was okay to continue watching the movie without them. Then she picked up Gracie and followed her husband and daughter up the stairs.

The trip to the bedroom had roused Emma a little bit. Charming had gotten her mostly tucked in but she'd apparently refused to close her eyes until she had both Gracie and her baby blanket. Snow handed the plush cat to her daughter, who accepted it gratefully. "All right, kiddo, now you've got Gracie," Charming said as he draped her baby blanket on top of the comforter.

Emma freed her arms from under the covers and rested her hands on her stomach, hugging Gracie to her body with her arm and running her fingers over the soft yarn of the blanket. "Good night, Emma," Charming said softly to his little girl.

"G'night, David," she murmured, her eyes slipping to half-mast.

Though it was clear to Snow that Charming wanted nothing more than to give his baby a kiss good night, he settled for running a soft thumb along her forehead. Then he stood and tiptoed towards the stairs, squeezing his wife's shoulders as he passed.

Snow smiled at him and eased down on the edge of Emma's bed. The sleepy girl turned onto her side, facing her mother and hugging Gracie to her chest. Snow smiled and fixed the covers around her little girl's shoulders. "Good night, Emma."

"Night, Mary Margaret," Emma yawned, her eyes drifting closed.

Snow ran the backs over her fingers down her baby's cheek as her own substitute for a good night kiss. Then she stood, figuring she should let Emma fall asleep in peace.

She'd barely taken two steps away from the bed when Emma mumbled, "Mary Margaret?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

The girl forced her eyes open as she gave her mother a bleary smile. "If I had a real mom and dad, I'd want them to be just like you and David." Then her eyes fluttered closed and within seconds, she was asleep.

Tears of joy and warmth welled in a stunned Snow's eyes at her sweet baby girl's words. With those words, little Emma had just accepted them as her parents, as her real parents, and Snow felt … light. She felt warm and happy and light, like she was walking on cloud nine.

She crept back over to the bed, ran her hand over her sleeping daughter's hair, and whispered, "And we're so very glad that we have a daughter just like you."

She pressed a soft kiss to her daughter's temple before switching off the bedside lamp and turning to leave the room. Only then did she spy her husband standing at the top of the stairs. Judging by the tears brimming in his eyes, he'd never left the room and had heard everything Emma had said.

Snow wrapped her arms around her husband, holding him tightly. "She's ours now, Charming," she whispered into his ear. "She's ours."

"She was always ours," he whispered back. "She was always ours, Snow, but now … now we're hers."

Snow tightened her arms around her husband and he responded in kind. They _were_ Emma's now. Their daughter had claimed them, and Snow couldn't have been happier.


	17. Chapter 17

After Henry's grandparents got little Emma tucked in, they both came back downstairs with teary eyes and touched smiles on their faces. Henry didn't ask what had happened upstairs, mostly because he didn't feel it was his business. Whatever happened had to have been good – for Emma and for his grandparents – and that was all that mattered.

Charming and Snow reclaimed their seats on the sofa, leaving Henry to take Emma's seat. He squeezed in between his grandparents, leading Charming to wrap an arm around his shoulders and Snow to take his hand and squeeze. "Is Emma asleep?" he asked them after a moment.

"Out like a light and hugging Gracie," Charming replied, a soft smile on his lips.

Henry grinned, wishing someone had snapped a picture of his little mom snuggling with Gracie. The more ammunition for teasing, the better. He eyed the camera still sitting on the coffee table. Maybe after he went up to bed …

The three of them snuggled on the sofa until the movie ended. It was only after Charming got up to turn off the television that Henry realized just how _disheveled_ the apartment was. Apparently, two little kids bouncing from activity to activity all day made quite the mess! When Snow stood up as well to straighten up the living area, Henry decided that the least he could do was help.

He gathered all the scattered art supplies – while swiping the camera from the coffee table on his way past – and tucked them back into the tote while Charming gave the kitchen a real cleaning. After all their activity in that room over the course of the day, there was spilled flour here and small flakes of oregano there and a dropped chocolate chip on the floor that one of them had accidentally kicked into a corner.

"Whew!" Henry said after he'd collected every last stray crayon and colored pencil and snapped the lid back onto the tote. "I swear, art supplies multiply when we're not looking. I really didn't think Emma and I used that much stuff!"

"I can tell you with utmost certainty that art supplies do multiply," Snow replied, smirking at her grandson. "When I first started keeping art supplies in the apartment, I used a pencil box. Over the years, the collection expanded into what you see before you."

Henry's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. He was pretty sure that little Emma could fit inside the tote his grandmother was currently using to house her art supplies. "Wow. That's a _lot_ of crayons and markers."

Snow chuckled. "And paper and stickers and glue sticks. Twenty-eight years of buying supplies for an elementary school classroom will do that."

"I guess so!" A sudden yawn escaped his lips then, interrupting the conversation and causing both of his grandparents to smirk at him.

"Looks like it's bedtime for you, too, kid," Charming said through a chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Henry muttered sheepishly. Then he stepped over to his grandfather and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Good night, Gramps."

Charming returned the hug and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. "Good night, Henry. Sleep tight."

"I'll tuck you in," Snow said as she placed her hand on the small of her grandson's back to lead him up the stairs.

Henry smiled. He knew he was probably a little old for it but his gramma liked tucking him in, so he let her. He figured Emma was _really_ too old to get tucked in – tonight notwithstanding – so he was happy to act as a substitute.

When they reached the top of the stairs, grandmother and grandson shared a smile. Not only had Emma sprawled out on her back in the middle of the bed but she'd also kicked the covers down to her feet. One little arm was still wrapped around Gracie, though, which Henry found to be completely and totally adorable.

Henry tiptoed over to his daybed and began to unmake it while Snow carefully slid the covers out from underneath her sleeping daughter's feet and drew them up over her little body. After brushing her daughter's hair out of her eyes and gently kissing her forehead, Snow turned her attention to her grandson.

As Henry climbed into bed, Snow eased down on the edge of his mattress. He liked this part of getting tucked in, when he and his grandmother would talk a little bit before he snuggled under the covers. "Gramma?"

"Yes, Henry?" she asked, smiling. It was clear that she liked this part of tucking him in, too.

This wasn't going to be his usual lighthearted conversation, though. He had things he wanted to say … and something he was sort of afraid to ask. He glanced over at little Emma before refocusing on his gramma. "I wouldn't blame her, you know. If she made the wish on purpose, I mean. She didn't get to grow up with you and she should have. It … I know it bothers her. So … do you really think she made the wish by mistake?"

A soft gasp escaped Snow's lips as she grasped her grandson's hand and squeezed comfortingly. "Oh, Henry. Yes, I really think she made the wish by mistake. First of all, I can't imagine that she would make a wish like this without telling any of us first. And second of all, she told me yesterday that one of her big reasons for being so hesitant to make the wish was because she didn't want to leave you."

At her words, Henry felt his heart flutter in relief. He'd believed his grandfather earlier when he said that they thought Emma wished herself little by accident, but part of him had been sort of afraid that she'd done it on purpose. Like he'd said to his gramma, he wouldn't blame her if she had, but .. well, he missed her and he wanted his mom back, and the thought of his mom choosing to leave him behind hurt.

"I want to tell you something, Henry," Snow continued, running her thumbs over the backs of his hands. He smiled; his mom used to do the same thing when he was upset when he was little. Maybe Snow had learned it from Regina. "You have been absolutely wonderful today. I know you're scared and I know you miss your mom but you put all of that aside for her." She nodded towards the little girl sleeping in the next bed. "You recognized that even though you need your mom, your mom needs this, too, and even though it hurts, you're letting her have it. You sacrificed for her, Henry, and _that_ is what real heroes do."

Pride swelled in Henry's heart. His gramma thought he was a hero, a _real_ hero? "Really?"

"Absolutely, honey." The gentle smile on her lips morphed into a teasing smirk. "You think you can go to sleep now?"

Swallowing a snicker, he nodded. When he lay down on his back, Snow drew the covers up to his shoulders. "Good night, Henry," she said with a smile.

"G'night, Gramma."

She smoothed his hair off his forehead – much like she'd just done with Emma – and gave him a soft kiss good night. Then, after giving him one more smile, she stood and tiptoed down the stairs, leaving the children together.

Henry turned onto his side and squinted through the darkness at his little mom. Then he climbed out from under the covers and turned on the lamp at her bedside. She'd kicked the covers down a little when she'd turned onto her side, leaving her shoulders uncovered. Gracie's head was resting underneath her chin. Grinning at his good fortune, Henry snapped the picture and then set the camera down on her nightstand.

The good humor he felt faded quickly, though, as he looked back at her. Because she'd started falling asleep during the movie, he hadn't gotten a good night hug from her. He'd only been getting good night hugs from her since she returned from the Enchanted Forest but he was surprised by just how much he missed not having one tonight.

His grandmother's words rang in his head then, her words about being a hero. She was right; Emma did need this. She needed love, not only parental love, but love of friends, too. And Henry had been that friend. He'd helped her, too, not just by allowing Emma the time to be little but also by playing with her and having fun with her and making her laugh.

And that was when he realized that although his mom couldn't give him a good night hug tonight, he could give her a good night kiss. He leaned down and gave little Emma a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Good night," he whispered as he stood up straight, then smiled when she snuggled deeper under the covers at his touch. "I love you."

And as he grabbed the camera from the nightstand and switched off the lamp, he could have sworn he heard her sleepy little voice whisper in return, "Love you, too."

* * *

The early morning sun shone through the slats of the blinds and directly into Emma's eyes. Groaning softly, she reached down for the comforter and yanked it up over her head. She had no idea what time it was, but whatever the hour, it was much too early to be waking up.

Not that she ever really wanted to get out of bed in the morning. Holy crap, did she hate mornings. Whoever invented the phrase "good morning" must have had lots of coffee and lots of bear claws in his or her system at the time. But there was something about this morning in particular that made her want to stay in bed for the next few hours.

Maybe it was the really odd yet really vivid dream she'd had the night before, one that left her simultaneously wishing it were real and praying that it wasn't. Or maybe it was because she subconsciously knew that with the cold light of day, she'd have to come to some kind of decision regarding the medallion.

Wait a second … the medallion. Hadn't she taken that thing downstairs in the middle of the night? The last thing she remembered was watching TV on the couch. How and when had she gone back upstairs to bed? The utter confusion caused Emma to open her eyes, and she came face-to-little-plush-face with a small gray cat.

Gracie?

Oh _shit_.

She threw the covers off her face and sat upright, her heart pounding in her chest. It _hadn't_ been a dream. That was why it had been so vivid and real … because it _was_ real. She'd really spent a day with her parents and son as an eight-year-old.

And her parents had shown her little eight-year-old self kindness and love and affection. They'd been gentle and loving. They'd given her everything she'd never had. She remembered everything, the trepidation around two new people, the fear that they were going to be just like everyone else.

But they hadn't been just like everything else. Her little self had described them as different, and they were, in every single possible way. Emma recalled it now, the love and devotion swimming in her mother's eyes. The pride and joy and adoration swimming in her father's. They looked at her, and she knew deep in her heart that she was their one and only. She was their entire world.

No one who had taken care of her – she used that phrase loosely, by the way – while she was growing up had ever looked at her like that. They'd all looked at her but they'd never really seen her. Snow and David … they had seen her, they'd really and truly seen her.

They'd seen a lonely little girl – _their_ lonely little girl – and they'd showered her with the attention and the love that she'd craved. They'd _loved_ her, for no other reason than she because she was Emma. "My little Emma," her father had called her. Her heart still warmed at those words. She'd never before thought that three little words could be so profound. Those three little words were only twelve letters long but they had meant the world to a lonely, unloved eight-year-old.

Truth be told, they meant the world to a lonely, abandoned twenty-eight-year-old, too.

"Mom?" a groggy little voice breathed.

Before she had the chance to even glance in the direction of the sound, her son launched himself at her. He vaulted onto her mattress and wrapped her in a tight hug. "You're back! I missed you so much! Little you was fun, don't get me wrong, but I missed you."

Her arms automatically wrapped around her son even as her brain struggled to come back to the present.

When she didn't say anything, Henry let her go, a frown of concern knotting his brow. "You do remember, don't you? Because little you didn't remember anything about us and it was kind of scary, but we ended up working around it. You do remember yesterday, though, right?"

"I remember," she assured him, causing the tension in his little shoulders to relax. It was weird; the longer she sat and thought about it, the more it began to feel like an actual childhood memory. She still remembered everything like it was yesterday (because, well, it was) but it was starting to get fuzzy around the edges.

Oblivious to her mental confusion, Henry grinned at her. "We have to go get Gramma and Gramps! They're going to want to see you."

The thought of seeing her parents right now sent a stab of fear through Emma's heart. They'd only had one day of spending time with her as a kid and now … what if they were disappointed that she was an adult again? What if they wanted little Emma back? "Not right now," she murmured, mostly under her breath.

Only then did she realize that something was missing. "Where's the medallion?" she asked, blinking at her son.

"Gramma hid it somewhere in her room yesterday so you wouldn't find it and accidentally make another wish." Henry frowned at her, his concern written on his features. "Why don't you want me to get Gramma and Gramps?"

She couldn't explain it to him. She couldn't explain that although he may have been happy to see her, she was afraid her parents wouldn't be so happy. "I just … need to wake up a little bit first."

It was a pitiful excuse, but he seemed to accept it. Instead of arguing the point, he snatched Gracie from her spot next to Emma and held the cat up in front of his mother's face. "Okay, then, while you're waking up, let's talk about how cute you were carrying this thing everywhere you went."

Emma snatched the cat from her son's grasp, trying and failing to hide an embarrassed smirk. "Um, let's not."

"Oh, I totally think we should. You barely put her down, Mom, and when you did, you made sure she could still see you! You fell asleep hugging her. It was beyond cute."

She shoved Gracie under the covers, which just made Henry giggle harder. Emma heaved a resigned sigh. She was never going to live this down, was she?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, Emma's an adult again, but don't worry, there's plenty more family stuff to come. Because the aftermath is where things get _good_. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** Just wanted to give y'all a heads-up that I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow morning so the next chapter will probably be delayed a bit. I'm bringing my laptop, as I have twelve hours of plane rides in the next week or so in my future, but I don't know how much more downtime I'll get in between. Hope this tides you over until then! Also, I feel like I haven't said it in a while: you all rock. :)

* * *

Even though Emma knew she couldn't, a large part of her wished she could hide out forever. It was that large part of her that almost told Henry he needed to stay put when he said he was going to run downstairs to brush his teeth. She figured her parents would hear him and then go out to greet him. The fact that she was an adult again was officially too big a secret for Henry to keep, and then it would begin.

The thought _terrified_ her.

It was just … they could fix a little girl. They could love a little girl and give a little girl everything she needed. And judging by the looks in their eyes yesterday, they'd clearly loved the opportunity to get to know their little girl. The only thing was, Emma wasn't a little girl anymore. What if … what if they were upset? And this was the question she was embarrassed to have even thought of, because it was an utterly childish question more befitting of the eight-year-old she'd been yesterday than twenty-eight-year-old she was now, but what if they loved her little self more than they loved her adult self?

But of course hiding out forever wasn't an option, so she'd let Henry go downstairs without a word of complaint. As soon as she was alone, she climbed out of bed, dug a pair of yoga pants out of her dresser drawer, and pulled them on. An old concert t-shirt may have fit her younger self as a nightshirt but it didn't exactly do the job now.

In an effort to delay going downstairs and facing the music – a holdover from her time as an eight-year-old? – Emma decided to make both beds. She started with Henry's, mostly because it was smaller and thus easier. As she moved his pillows out of the way, she found her old digital camera tucked underneath them. What the …

She powered it up and flicked to the view setting. The first image that popped up filled her with an odd combination of embarrassment and nostalgia. She was staring down at a picture of herself sound asleep with Gracie tucked under her chin. Her little eight-year-old body still somehow managed to take up the entire queen bed.

It was bizarre. There was that sense of separation that came from looking at pictures of oneself as a child, that sense of recognizing oneself but not, seeing features that were familiar and features that had been lost to time. (The barely there freckles on the bridge of Emma's nose, for instance. They'd faded completely by the time she entered junior high.)

And yet, this picture had only been taken the night before. The plush cat, which should have been ratty and faded by now had the picture been taken twenty years ago, was tucked under her covers, still bright and soft. The picture was freakin' digital, for crying out loud. It was just … bizarre.

Since the photo was beginning to make her brain hurt, she flicked to the next one. The second she saw it, a soft gasp escaped her lips and her knees threatened to turn to jelly. She sank down on the edge of Henry's bed, blinking back tears as she ran a finger down the little screen.

She was staring down at a family portrait, her first and only family portrait. Everyone was sitting on the sofa in the living room. Henry had squeezed in between Snow and David and was grinning at the camera. Emma didn't remember him doing so but pictorial evidence didn't lie: David had grabbed hold of one of her little hands. She was sitting on Snow's lap, and Snow had draped her arms around her little shoulders, holding her in a light hug. Everyone's eyes were shining with love, and Emma … well, she was basking in it.

Emma didn't have very many pictures of herself from when she was young. The ones she did have, her eyes were remarkably sad. They were the haunted eyes of a lonely little girl who'd seen and experienced far too much in her young life. In this picture, though … in this one, her eyes were positively sparkling.

It was … overwhelming.

"I figured you'd never had a family picture," a soft voice said from the doorway. Emma shot her head up, her teary eyes finding her mother's glistening ones. "I thought … you might like one."

And that was it. The floodgates burst, and everything Emma had been holding in for twenty-eight years came rushing forward. She tried to stop it, tried to regain control, but it was utterly useless.

The moment her first sniffle escaped, Snow rushed into the room and eased down on the bed next to her daughter. She wrapped her arms around Emma just as the first tears fell from her eyes. A stubborn Emma struggled against her mother's grip but Snow refused to let her go, refused to release her comforting hold. Eventually, Emma gave in, both to her mother's comfort and to the tears she'd needed to cry for a long, long time.

Emma's mind was thrown back to the day before when Snow had gathered her into her arms and held on tight, letting the comfort soothe her and staunch her tears. Her hold this morning, though no less strong and no less comforting, was different. This time, she didn't want Emma to stop crying. This time, she wanted Emma to finally allow herself a release.

And so Emma did. The tears came fast and furious, so fast and so furious that she didn't even flinch when she felt a second set of strong arms wrap around her from the other side. Her father's arms, she realized a moment before he whispered into her ear, "Let it out, kiddo."

The pet name set her off again. Growing up, she'd never had anyone care enough to give her a nickname. The day before, she'd gotten three: kiddo from her father, sweetheart from her mother, and munchkin from Ruby. It shouldn't have taken twenty-eight years and a broken curse to find people who loved her enough to have special names for her.

She had no idea how long it took but she eventually cried all the tears she had in her. Once her cries had dwindled down to sniffles and choked hiccups, her parents let her go. Snow brushed Emma's hair out of her eyes and gave her a gently, teary smile. "You all right?"

Emma didn't trust her voice just yet, so she nodded even though it was a lie.

There was no way she was all right because she'd _finally_ felt it, finally felt everything she'd missed. She'd had twenty-four hours of a normal childhood. Twenty-four hours of people paying attention to her and doing things with her and doting on her and _loving_ her. She should have had twenty-eight years of it. She should have had a lifetime of it. She'd understood that the time had been stolen from her parents, but she'd never really understood that it had been stolen from her, too, not until this morning.

The gentle looks on her parents' faces told her that they understood. They knew she wasn't all right and they knew it was going to take her a _while_ for her to process everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. But for right now, she was as okay as she could be, and that was what mattered.

And something about those gentle expressions on her parents' faces told her that they would be with her, every step of the way. The silent show of support almost set her off again but she somehow managed to regain her careful control and swallow the impending tears.

Though she wasn't sure she was really up for it, Emma picked the camera up off her lap to review the rest of the pictures. There was the one of the topsy tail hairstyle her mother had done the night before. She had to admit, with the braid and the curls and the upstyled half ponytail, she did indeed look like a princess. "Is this how my hair would have been done every day?" she asked, her voice still raw from her crying jag.

"Maybe not every day," Snow admitted, reaching out to draw of lock of Emma's hair over her shoulder. She fiddled with the curl lovingly as she spoke. "But a lot of the time, yes. My mother used to style my hair that way. She said she liked the way my curls framed my face."

Emma looked over at her with a cautious expression. "Did you … did you like the way the curls framed my face?"

Snow exchanged a very brief but very troubled glance with her husband, making Emma wince. It hit her now that she'd just sounded very much like the eight-year-old incarnation of herself they'd met yesterday. "I did, Emma," Snow replied once she refocused her attention on her daughter. "I did very much, but in all honesty, your hair always frames your face in a way that makes you look absolutely lovely."

Giving a swift nod and tearing her gaze from her mother's, Emma flicked to the next picture. She probably should have taken a moment beforehand because this one sent a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She was sound asleep, cuddled up against her father as he read to her from the _Madeline_ anthology. She was holding Gracie in her lap as always, and she just looked so … comfortable with David.

"This absolutely made my day, Emma," David said as he ran a soft thumb along her cheek. "First you wanted me to read to you, and then you snuggled up with me and fell asleep. It took me by surprise but I loved every second of it."

She swallowed hard as she set the camera down on the mattress. She had no idea if there were any more pictures but she didn't think she'd be able to handle seeing them even if there were. Not right now. She stared straight ahead as she tried to make sense of … everything.

"Emma, honey, what are you thinking?" Snow asked her.

She didn't know whether it was coming from her twenty-eight-year-old self or if it was a holdover from her day as an eight-year-old but she kind of missed her mother calling her sweetheart. She shook her head in answer to Snow's question, though, because she didn't know how to answer. Her head was still spinning, her emotions bouncing from one to another and her thoughts zooming in and out and over and under.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents exchange a glance. Then David said, "Emma, please don't shut us out. I know this has to be overwhelming for you, but–"

And suddenly, Emma was angry. She had no idea why and she had no idea where the anger was coming from, but she was _angry_. "No, you _don't_ know. You have no idea what it was like. You have no idea what it's like to grow up with no love, with no one who paid any kind of attention to you. And then one day you get it. You get love but it's really only for a day, and that one day lets you know exactly what your life has been missing."

"You're right, Emma," Snow said gently. "We'll never be able to truly know how hard your childhood was for you, but we do know how it feels to suddenly feel everything you've missed. You had parents for just a day, and we had a young daughter for just a day."

"Yeah, and now you have me again," Emma grumbled bitterly. "Talk about trading down."

"Hey, hey, look at me," David said, his voice gentle yet stern. When she didn't respond, he placed his finger under her chin and turned her head to force eye contact. "We did _not_ trade down, Emma. Eight-year-old you, twenty-eight-year-old you … they're both our precious little girl. They're both our Emma. We don't care how we have you in our lives, Emma, just as long as we have you in our lives."

And in his eyes, she saw utter sincerity, the same sincerity she'd seen the day before.

The anger she'd felt instantly melted away. Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes without warning and spilled over before she could stop them, tears of relief. They _wanted_ her. It didn't matter to them how old she was; they just wanted _her_. And when David pulled her into another hug, she let him hold her. She let her father hold her and soothe her, let herself feel what she'd yearned to feel for her entire life: love and comfort and the utter joy of being someone's entire world.

And when her mother grasped her hands and squeezed, she squeezed back, accepting the comfort both her parents were offering her. Her head was still spinning and her emotions were still roiling, but she was surprised to find that it all stopped, just for the moment, while she was in her parents' arms.

If this was what real family was like, she would take it in a heartbeat.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:** This was written mostly on the plane and edited before heading out for the day (because when you put an East Coast girl on the West Coast, she tends to wake up at 5 AM, thinking it's 8 AM, and like, nothing is open at 5 AM. ;)). The woman sitting next to me on the plane was watching me write this, but I have absolutely no idea what she thought, haha. Hope you enjoy!

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Emma stayed in her parents' soothing embrace long after the tears stopped coming. She needed their comfort, needed their love, needed to feel their arms around her. As soon as they let her go, she was not only going to have to deal with the emotions brought up by her day as an eight-year-old but also figure out what the hell to do about the medallion. In all honesty, she kind of wanted to go back to being an eight-year-old, if only to delay the dealing with things a bit.

Eventually, she pulled away, giving her parents an embarrassed but grateful smile. Snow returned her smile. "Come on, sweetheart," she said, running her thumb over her baby's cheeks to dry them. "How do chocolate chip pancakes sound for breakfast?"

"Sounds great," Emma replied, sniffling back the rest of her tears. David gave her shoulder a final gentle rub before standing and holding his hand out to her.

With a shy smile, Emma took her father's hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Then she gently pulled free and ran her hands over her face. Though it was pretty much an impossibility that Henry hadn't heard her crying, she still didn't want her meltdown to be super-obvious. The sound of little footsteps slowly descending the stairs as she took a moment to compose herself proved that her preparations were pointless. Clearly, the kid had heard, at least a little bit.

_Damn_ it.

Still, no one said a word about her breakdown when the three of them finally emerged from the loft. "Chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast this morning, kid," Emma said. The information served two purposes: getting the kid excited about the impending meal and heading off any questions about what had happened upstairs at the pass.

Thankfully, Henry sensed that questions would not be appreciated and went right along with her. He raised his eyebrows and gave his grandmother a playful smirk. "You mean we didn't use up all the chocolate chips yesterday?"

Snow shot her grandson a sly smile before pulling yet another bag of chocolate chips from the cabinet. Emma stared at her mother, dumbfounded. How in the hell many bags of chocolate chips did she have in there? "What is this, Mary Poppins' carpet bag?" she asked incredulously. "Do you just have an endless supply of chocolate chips?"

"In this family, one has to be prepared," Snow teased as she closed the cabinet. She grinned at her daughter. "I'll have to find a new hiding place, though."

"How many bags do you have in there?" Henry asked.

"I get three at a time, so this is the last one I have on hand. I'll get more later."

Emma shook her head. Only her mother would have some sort of secret stash of chocolate chips.

David and Snow took care of the pancakes while Emma and Henry set the table. Emma kept one eye on her parents as she thought back to the day before when she'd sat on the counter and made a batch of cookie dough with them. It had been such a simple activity but she'd had so much fun doing it.

That was what killed her; kids didn't need much to make them happy. They just needed some time and attention and togetherness. That was why she'd been so happy yesterday morning. She'd been happy just to have someone take an interest in her.

One of her earliest memories was of herself at about four years old, sitting on a counter, swinging her legs, and happily licking brownie batter off a wooden spoon. She had no idea which house that was; she had no recollection of the person baking the brownies. All she remembered was being happy for that one little moment.

That was what her parents had done for her yesterday. They'd given her happy moments, loving moments. An entire day's worth of them. They'd cooked with her and played with her and done things with and for her and loved her.

It had been _wonderful_.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Henry softly asked as he eased down at the table with her.

His little voice broke through her thoughts, startling her back to reality. She still wasn't sure if she was okay but the hesitant and concerned expression on his face tugged at her heart. "Yeah," she said, giving the kid a soft smile. "Yeah, I'm okay."

The tension in his shoulders relaxed at the confirmation, though the hesitant facial expression remained. "I'm really sorry, Mom. For the medallion, I mean. When I came up with Operation Ladybug, I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Oh, kid, I know that," she said, placing her hand over his and squeezing lightly. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He nodded, squeezed her hand back, and then slipped free so he could sip his glass of milk. The two of them sat in silence for a moment before Henry asked, "Do you remember what happened when you made the wish? 'Cause none of us knew you even did it until we woke up."

Emma cringed at the notion of how shocked all of them must have been to discover that she'd reverted to an eight-year-old overnight. The odd thing was, though, that she really didn't remember, either.

She thought back to the night Henry gave her the medallion. She'd gone upstairs after coming back from the talk with her mother down by the water. She'd fallen asleep and then woken up at some ridiculous time in the morning, when she took the medallion downstairs so she could think and ruminate without disturbing Henry. She must have fallen asleep on the couch because that was where her parents had found her, but what had happened in between?

_Aw, crap_, she thought when it finally came to her. "I didn't mean to make the wish," she murmured in realization. Then the pieces shifted and fit together in a whole new way. "I didn't even say anything out loud!"

It was bad enough that she didn't even need to be holding the damn thing for it to grant her wishes. Now it worked by thought, too? That was all kinds of not at all okay.

Her mind was so busy thinking of ways not even having to verbalize a wish to have it granted could go wrong that it took her a moment to register the sheer relief on her son's face. In that moment, though, she understood, and her heart sank to her stomach. She'd never wanted to make him feel like that, because she knew better than most just how awful it was.

She was out of her seat and over to her son in a flash, pulling him into a tight hug. "Oh, Henry, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Mom," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "We didn't think you did it on purpose."

"No, but you were afraid I did." She felt him nod against her. "I'm so sorry, kid. I would never leave you on purpose. Never, okay?"

"I know," he said as he pulled away and gave her a little smile. "It just felt good to hear it."

She smiled back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents pretending that they weren't paying attention to the conversation at the table. Her father at least had the decency to look busted when she made brief eye contact. Snow just smiled at her.

"You were really fun little, though," Henry continued, recapturing Emma's attention. "You were really good at making up games."

One thing growing up with a whole bunch of different kids had taught her quite well was how to make up games. They'd played a couple of made-up games the day before, and they'd both been hers. The mashup of air hockey and paper football they'd played with the Froot Loop and the connect-the-random-dots game … she'd taught those to Henry. "You were fun, too," she said gently. "I really liked having someone to play with."

"I did, too," Henry smiled.

And then was when Emma understood just what her son had done for her yesterday. He'd swallowed his own fear and his own disappointment to give her a good day, to give her a kind of surrogate sibling. A real one, one who really cared about her and one she would really remember.

Her entire family had done everything for her all day long yesterday. Her entire family and Ruby and Granny. They'd taken an opportunity they were given, and then they gave it to her.

She was loved. She was really, truly loved. The tears were pricking her eyes again, but a deep breath staunched them before they could form completely.

She and Henry sat in silence until Snow and David set plates of chocolate chip pancakes in front of them. Emma smiled a thank you at her parents and waited until they sat down as well before digging in. As she popped the first bite of pancakes into her mouth, she realized with a jolt that she really liked this family meal thing. Even if they didn't talk, the very act of being together was special.

Of course, in their family, there was no such thing as a quiet breakfast. Snow and David kept the conversation flowing, and Henry jumped in every so often with an observation or a gentle dig to Emma about Gracie.

Emma just let the conversation swirl around her. Her head was still spinning, still trying to make sense of everything. Every little word, every little moment either reminded her of the day before or all the countless days she'd had that were the exact opposite of the day before. She didn't know how to feel: thrilled beyond words that she finally had the love she'd been searching for or angry that it had taken twenty-eight-years for her to get it. Embarrassed by her meltdown or happy that her meltdown was the first step to healing. Whether she should bask in the love and affection or steel herself against it because what would happen if it went away?

Not to mention that also floating around in the back of her mind was the fact that she had to do _something_ about the medallion. If she didn't even have to speak her wish out loud for the thing to work its magic, she didn't want it in the apartment anymore. It was going to be hard enough to attempt to regulate a verbal "I wish." A mental "I wish," though? That was too automatic, too unconscious, too instinctive to attempt to regulate. So it was either she lived with the possibility of more accidental wishes – which, no thank you – or get rid of the thing entirely.

And yet, she didn't want to get rid of it. It had been a wonderful and thoughtful gift from her son, and it was really a lovely piece of silver. As her father had said, the work was exquisite, and she couldn't deny how utterly perfect the engraving was for her and her family.

"You're really quiet," a worried Snow said, cutting through Emma's mental wanderings.

As was typical when Emma's head was spinning and she didn't know which emotion she wanted to let rise to the surface, she broke out the sarcasm. "I'm just quiet because every time I open my mouth, a certain someone teases me about a certain stuffed cat," she replied, winking at her son.

Henry swallowed a mischievous giggle. "Come on, Mom, you have to admit, you were really cute with her. She went _everywhere_ with you, and you hugged her a _lot_."

Emma heaved a playful sigh in response. What she left unsaid, mostly because she didn't think she could bear the pained looks that were sure to come across her parents' faces, was that Gracie had been her first stuffed animal. Not ever, of course, but her first stuffed animal of her own that she remembered. She'd co-opted toys other kids had left behind in group homes and she did have a picture of herself at about two holding a teddy bear that was half her size, but she hadn't kept the toys and had no recollection of the bear. It clearly hadn't gone back into the system with her when her first family returned her.

But Gracie … Gracie was hers and hers alone. Snow and David had brought Gracie specifically for her, and Emma remembered feeling so very special when they'd done so.

Her thoughts had caused a tickle in her throat that told her tears were imminent, and she'd done far too much crying today. So, as was also typical, she changed the subject. "Oh, and by the way, which of you is responsible for the pictures of tiny me sleeping?"

Snow raised a hand, though she did not appear at all sorry. "I took the one of you and David."

"I took the other one," Henry said proudly.

Well, then. Since both of them seemed to be quite proud of what they'd done, Emma turned her best teasing glare on her entire family. "Those pictures do not leave this apartment. No putting them on phones, no showing them to anyone that is not in this room." She focused solely on her father for her next point. "No putting them up at your desk. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Snow replied, giving her daughter a sarcastic salute.

"Aw, man," Henry jokingly grumbled.

David just grinned.

Emma heaved another sigh. She had a funny feeling that the one of him reading to her was indeed going to end up framed and in a place of honor on his desk. Because that was exactly what she needed in the sheriff's station: a picture of the eight-year-old sheriff, fast asleep and cuddled up with her father.

But then the expression on her father's face shifted from teasing to tender and she suddenly felt that tickling in the back of her throat again. She'd never had anyone _want_ to keep a picture of her on his or her desk. If he really wanted, maybe she could let David put it up after all.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** And we've reached another end. I never really thought I'd do a Wee Emma story, but I wanted to do an enchanted object story and I figured what better time than now? ;) Thank you all for following this little (*again looks at word count, snorts*) story of mine, and thank you all for your absolutely lovely comments. I hope you've all enjoyed!

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Chocolate chip pancakes were the breakfast of champions. Or at least, they were the breakfast of the sheriff of a small town filled with fairy tale characters. One of these days, she'd have to ask her mother how to make them – any and all pancakes Emma had ever made had involved a box from the freezer section of the grocery story and a microwave. After yesterday, she had a funny feeling that Snow would be thrilled for the chance to give her another cooking lesson.

By the time she finished the meal, Emma had come to a decision regarding the medallion: it needed to go back to Gold. The opportunity it had afforded her was of course wonderful and certainly one she would never forget, but that opportunity had also proven to her that there were far too many reasons that keeping a wish-granting medallion around was an absolutely terrible idea. The realization that she didn't even need to speak her wish out loud had been the final straw; she _couldn't_ keep it. She had absolutely no desire to live with the potential of wacky magical hijinks, thank you very much.

"I'm sorry, kid," she said after she told her family about her decision. "I just … can't keep it."

"It's okay, Mom," Henry replied, and she could have hugged him for being so understanding. "I wouldn't want to take the chance of making another accidental wish, either."

Snow had gotten up to retrieve the medallion from her room, where she'd hidden it from her little daughter. "Do you want us to go with you?" she asked as she handed the velvet box over to Emma.

"No, thanks," Emma said, tucking the box in her jacket pocket. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I need to do this on my own."

Everyone in the family exchanged a slightly troubled glance, so she smiled to set them at ease. They were worried about her, she could tell, but they let her go by herself as she requested.

It wasn't that she didn't want them around. It was that she needed to talk to Gold, and she needed to do so without an audience. Plus, there was a tiny part of her that was afraid that she'd chicken out if her parents came with her. By returning the medallion, she was taking away the chance for them to have any more time with her little self. She needed to give it back without them standing over her shoulder, without the chance that she'd spy pain in their eyes and change her mind.

When she reached Gold's shop, she opened the door and allowed the bell to signal her arrival. Sure enough, the imp himself stepped out from behind the curtain that separated his office from the shop proper. "Good morning, Miss Swan. I see you've slept on my offer."

Emma was about to snidely inform him that she had indeed slept on his offer and was rejecting it when his wording registered. _Sleep on it._ He'd said that before, too, when she came storming into the shop after discovering the medallion granted wishes.

She _had_ slept on it, literally. It was a wish made while falling asleep that had made the day before happen in the first place. "Wait, did you know this was going to happen?" she asked incredulously.

"Did I know what was going to happen?" he asked.

His voice may have held pure innocence but the impish sparkle in his eyes held anything but. "You _did_ know," she breathed, narrowing her eyes at the shopkeeper. "From the second you gave this to Henry, you knew I was going to–"

"What, wish yourself into a small child by mistake? Yes, of course I knew."

Sudden anger swirled through her veins, making her somewhat dizzy. "A warning would have been nice, you know."

"Why would I warn you?"

"I was eight years old for an entire day! That should be reason enough."

"Yes, you were eight years old for an entire day. So tell me, Miss Swan, did your time as an eight-year-old help you or did it not?"

At that, she blinked. Her day being eight had indeed helped, more than she ever thought possible. It had given her love and family. It had given her some good childhood memories. It had given her a sense of belonging that she'd lacked her entire life.

Not that she wanted to admit any of that to Gold. "What does it matter to you if it helped me or not?"

"You all needed to see."

All right, she'd officially had it with his cryptic way of giving non-answers. "We needed to see what?"

"That what you have is what you have. Your son missed you, Miss Swan, and you should ask your parents about how they felt not having you while you were a small child. I think you'll be thoroughly surprised by their answers."

With that non-answer, she had skated past irritated and was well on her way to pissed off. He'd done all of this – giving Henry the medallion and planting the idea of wishing back lost time in her head – just to teach them all some kind of lesson? She angrily pushed the velvet box across the counter. "I don't want this anymore."

"Ah, but you do. You know you do, Miss Swan. Not the wishes, perhaps, but the medallion itself. Such a lovely gift from a young boy to his mother. Such a perfect gift for you."

She really did want it. He was right; it had indeed been a very thoughtful gift and it was indeed absolutely perfect for her.

She shook the thoughts right out of her head; there was no way he was going to talk her into keeping it. "Right, but the medallion comes ready-made with wishes. I want no part in using magic like this, and I don't want it around me."

"You're still not getting it," Gold said, sighing somewhat impatiently. "You can have it both ways. The very fact that it comes ready-made with wishes means that it doesn't _have_ to come with wishes."

Sometimes – okay, most of the time – she really hated the way he spoke in riddles. What in the fresh hell did he mean? If the damn thing came with wishes, how could it not come with wishes?

After a moment, her eyes widened in realization. She _could_ have it both ways: she could wish to take away the medallion's wish-granting properties. That way she could keep the medallion without having to worry about those wacky magical hijinks.

Gold smiled at her when he realized she finally understood. "Would it be permanent?" she asked. She knew she could undo her wishes, but once the magic granting the wishes was gone, would she be able to undo it?

"That depends on you and your magic. I don't doubt that you're powerful enough to re-enchant the medallion should you so desire, but it would be your choice."

"No accidental wishes?"

"No accidental wishes," he confirmed, sliding the box back to her.

Emma set her shoulders as she removed the medallion from the box. Holding it in her right hand, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and murmured, "I wish this medallion no longer granted wishes."

Her eyes snapped open as a deep shudder ran through her. She caught the dual flash of light, one from the medallion and one from her own hand, but it all of a sudden felt as if someone had sucked all the air out of her lungs. She gasped for breath, hand tightening around the medallion. The silver piece first felt blistering hot, then ice cold, and then became room temperature again.

She turned a hesitant look on Gold, who nodded in response to her silent question. What she had felt was indeed the enchantment leaving the medallion. Holy. Shit. She did not like that at _all_.

The grin on Gold's face was a combination of a proud teacher and a cat who had eaten a canary. "You are so very powerful, Miss Swan. Not everyone could have broken that enchantment. I doubt Regina could have."

"But you knew I would be able to."

"Of course. I wouldn't have suggested it to you, otherwise."

Right. Why had she suspected any different? She set the medallion back in the box, snapped it closed, and slipped it into her back pocket. "I still have no real idea why you did this, and I'm still mad you used my kid to do it, but thanks."

"Family is important, Miss Swan. Time spent with family is precious, and time is what has been stolen from your family."

"Yeah, you should know. You and Regina are the ones who stole it."

"Yes, that we are," he admitted. She noted with irritation that he didn't sound at all apologetic. "Your family has been caught up in the stolen time, so focused on it that you didn't even see what was right in front of you."

And there he went again, speaking in riddles. "If this was all some weird way of apologizing–"

"It wasn't." Of course not, because that would have been asking a bit much, apparently. "It was simply a lesson. Ask your parents, and you'll understand what I mean."

How come every time Emma went to Gold for answers, she ended up leaving more confused than she was before she walked in? Hadn't the man ever heard of giving a straight answer? Unsettled, she turned around and, without another word, stalked out of the shop.

The bright sunshine of the Storybrooke morning settled her nerves almost as soon as she was out of the dark shop, which was great because she still had one more stop to make before heading back to the apartment. Her feet carried her there as if she were on auto-pilot, and honestly, she might as well have been. As soon as she stepped through the door of Granny's, Red graced her with a wide grin. "Welcome back, Sheriff," she said as Emma approached the counter.

"Thanks," Emma replied somewhat sheepishly. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone had looked up at Red's words, but no one seemed to be paying them any special attention.

"Only the people who saw you yesterday know," Red murmured to her. "Snow swore me to secrecy. She mentioned that she didn't think you'd appreciate everyone gawking at you."

Her mother had been correct; she _wouldn't_ have appreciated the entire town seeing her as an eight-year-old kid. "I wanted to thank you for yesterday,"she said just as softly. "You made little me feel very special."

"It was a piece of cake to do," she replied, smiling as Granny exited the kitchen and made her way over to greet Emma. "Little you was adorable. Not that adult you isn't adorable, too, of course."

Emma chuckled while rolling her eyes. "I get what you mean."

"You were absolutely precious," Granny said, smiling warmly at her. "I'm very glad to see that you're back to yourself, though. You were missed around here, let me tell you."

The open affection for both her little and adult incarnations was beginning to make Emma uncomfortable. "Thanks for sharing your secret cocoa recipe with me," she said, mostly to shift the focus of the conversation.

Luckily, Granny went right along with her. "Not a word of that to anyone, girl," she said sternly, then winked.

"I promise," Emma replied, echoing her words from the day before. Granny smiled at her.

Since she was heading back to the apartment, Emma purchased four cups of Granny's secret recipe cocoa to take to her family. After Red and Granny served her the cocoa, she said goodbye and began heading home.

On the walk back, she tried to let her mind settle. It was weird how everyone had seemed to adore spending time with her eight-year-old self and yet they were all so happy to see her return to her normal self. Maybe it was like her parents had said, after all: they didn't trade down getting her back.

As soon as she stepped through the front doors of the building, her emotions began to roil again, bubbling in her stomach and rolling around in her head. The anger that it had taken twenty-eight-years and a wish on an enchanted object for her to feel truly loved. The fear that if she let that love in completely, it would go away, just like it always had. The intense desire to allow the lonely little girl who still resided deep within her to have the one thing she'd always wanted: the love of a real family.

It was as she was turning her key in the deadbolt that Gold's riddle came back to her. She was supposed to ask her parents how they really felt about yesterday. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

When she opened the door, Henry came bounding over and took the tray of cocoa cups from her hand. She smiled a thank you at him as she shrugged her jacket off and pulled the velvet box from her pocket. "I thought you were giving that back," Henry said, drawing his grandparents' attention.

"I was," Emma admitted, "but then Gold showed me something. Watch this." She removed the medallion from the box and held it in her right hand while setting the box down in the kitchen counter with her left. "I wish the room was filled with bubbles."

"Emma ..." Snow admonished but she trailed off when absolutely nothing happened. No flashes of light, no bubbles pouring forth from anywhere. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at her daughter. "Did he … deactivate it for you?"

Emma chuckled at her mother's choice of words. "No, I deactivated it myself."

"You wished for it to stop granting wishes!" Henry exclaimed.

Damn, the kid was good. She stepped up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Yeah, I did. It was such a great present from my great kid that I didn't want to part with it. This way, I didn't have to."

He grinned and threw his arms around her in a hug. "Thanks, Mom."

"No, Henry, thank you," she said softly. "I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen, but I'm glad it did. It … it helped me a lot."

His grip around her tightened. "I'm glad it helped you a lot."

She held him for a moment longer, then let him go and turned to her parents. "Gold told me to ask you about yesterday. I don't really know why; he told me Henry missed me and then said I should ask you about your feelings, too."

Snow and David exchanged a glance, and it was David who eventually spoke. "We missed you, too, kiddo. We had a version of you but we didn't have _you. _We didn't have the Emma we know and love, and we missed her."

"It was great seeing you as a little girl, Emma," Snow continued when David trailed off, at a loss for words, "but we definitely missed you. I wouldn't trade the opportunity we had yesterday for anything, but I also wouldn't trade anything if it meant losing you. _You're_ our happy ending, Emma. Not some other, idealized version of you, but you, the woman standing in front of us."

Emma's eyes filled with tears. The second they did, both her parents stepped forward to wrap her in a hug. She hugged them back, clinging to them the way her eight-year-old self had clung to her mother yesterday.

_This_ was what Gold had wanted them to see, she realized now. He'd wanted them to understand that wishing things were different was pointless. Or maybe not pointless, but definitely not what they really wanted. At the end of the day, all they really wanted was to be together, which was what they already were. Not even the Dark Curse could change that. They were an unconventional family, to be sure, but they were a family, and they were together.

When Henry joined the hug a moment later, Emma drew him closer to her. Although this world had been awful to her, it had also given her her kid, her fantastic kid whose simple desire to give her a present had brought them all so much closer together.

"Hey, kid," Emma said, sniffling as she pulled out of the hug.

"Yeah?"

"Operation Ladybug?"

Henry cringed sheepishly. "Yeah?"

She smiled at him. "Mission accomplished." Henry grinned at her in response.

Her parents turned loving looks on her. "You all right?" Snow asked, cupping Emma's cheek in her palm.

Emma thought a moment, darting her gaze among her family. _Her_ family. She finally had a family, a real family. She was theirs and they were hers, and that was how they were going to stay. Her kid had given her more than just a gift, more than just an opportunity. He'd given her eight-year-old self a family, and her family in turn had given her eight-year-old self everything she'd never had. And now at twenty-eight again, she was able to see what she couldn't before: she'd had her family from the day she set foot in Storybrooke.

They'd been drawn to each other. They'd found each other.

Eventually, she nodded. Her parents smiled back, Snow running her thumb along her daughter's cheek and David lightly grasping his baby's hand. She wasn't a hundred percent all right yet, but she had no doubt in her mind that she would be all right with the help of her family.


End file.
